We woke to a crisp blue sky in the Vedado area of west Havana. Anita had not slept well as the security guard at the Casa Particulares (Bed and Breakfast) had been a bit noisy through the night. We asked Mayda over breakfast why she had a security guard as it seemed to be a very safe neighbourhood. She replied, "I always get a security guard when an Italian stays. You never know how they will go when they bring girls back. And sometimes the girls are under 18 so I always check their papers." We chortled on our eggs and toast as we realised her main clientele were Sex Tourists and their Jineteras/prostitute "girl friends". Hmmmm.
We were soon on our bikes rolling west to the Sierra Rosaria and the last leg of our very long cycling trip. Our final and last 6 days of riding - some tough, some easy, but all beautiful and full of reminiscing on nearly a life time full of adventure packed into a year.
The scenery was splendid until we reached Mariel where we turned in land. We stopped at the petrol station to buy some soft drink and some ice cream. In a country where it is close to impossible to buy milk (as a tourist) - ice cream is a cyclist necessity. I KNOW - the suffering, the HARD ships! Nestle Ice Cream has clearly moved into Cuba and they must be loving their market position with no competitors and a country of consumers excited just to be able to buy some ice cream. The freezers seem to generally have one flavour - either chocolate, vanilla OR Moncada (Caramel - sort of) but rarely all three at once. In some locations you might be lucky to find specialty ice creams on a stick but we always stuck to the tubs; at $1.35US for 450g it was a bargain!
Feeling super charged with Ice Cream we powered out onto the curious, demoralising, and empty Auto Pista (highway). Cuba's Auto Pistas are an anomaly. Sometimes 2 lanes but often 3 to 4 lanes wide in EACH direction they have to be some of the most under utilised pieces of infrastructure in the world. As you roll along these highways the reality of so few vehicles makes you think that Armageddon has already arrived to planet Earth. But maybe it wasn’t the empty highway that was demoralizing. Likely it was the head wind and the fact that we weren't ever quite sure where the turn off was. We asked at every intersection and off ramp - sometimes having to back track just to confirm our course. Finally at the town of Cayajabos we reached a consensus where two out of three people agreed we were correct to turn off despite the insistence of that one cheeky fellow that clearly didn't know what he was talking about.
The highlight of the nearby park of Las Terrazas is the vegetarian restaurant called El Romero. We stayed at a B&B outside the park and had to ride about 8km to find it. But OhMyGod were we glad we made the effort. The guide book described the place as something out of San Francisco and we couldn't have agreed more. It was about as UN-Cuban as you could get without leaving the island. Tempura vegetables, Bean Pancake, Potatoe delights, Cactus & Pineapple Juice, Anise coffee, and homemade Vanilla ice cream. After lunch we rode up to check out the high class eco Hotel Moka and slipped into the pool for some terrific "trespass" relaxation in the sunshine. I tipped the bartender and he happily let us hang out with the other guests for the rest of the afternoon. Amazing what you can get away with when you have some audacity and a bicycle!
As we rolled up to the intersection the next morning we had to convince our bellies that El Romero was still closed in order to gain acceptance of the sad fact and roll on without eating again. We soon arrived at yet another T intersection and made our last big adventure decision of the year. The guide book recommended we head south where there were plenty of hotel options and easy riding. We went north because there was no where to stay in the guide book and it had more adventure written all over it. In a moment of frivolity and spontaneity we threw ourselves to serendipity. By lunch time we were sitting in a restaurant with a menu that should have been titled “We rip you rotten”. After ordering the minimum possible we evacuated and found a Peso pizza joint where the food was worse but at least we were paying a more appropriate quality/quantity to price ratio. Needless to say, serendipity in Bahia Honda seemed to be as far away as Sri Lanka*! But cycle touring proved itself again with friendly folk and finally the cosy Casa Particulares called Villa Jose Otano in Playa Mulata. Salvation was ours as it was the only place to sleep for about 60km.
Jose, Maria and their daughter Cari were simply lovely and the Pargo(?) fish was to die for. Our luncheon memories soon faded as our appetites were appeased we sat on the porch of the tiny bungalow, rocking in the chairs and watched the local community stroll, roll, drive and tractor by. In Playa Mulata we surmised that every child is made a rocking chair at birth and that they carry that treasured piece of furniture throughout life – every porch in the village had a minimum of 2 to 4 rocking chairs on each porch.
When we rolled into Puerto Esperanza the next day we were disturbed to find that half the town was calling out to Anita. We soon learned that Cari had called ahead and to ensure we didn't leave she had told our new host Teresa that Anita loved lobster. Lo and behold just as we arrived Lobster! was ready for us and Yes! we were ready to all of it. And then Lobster was ready again for dinner that night. It was nearly ready again for breakfast but Anita determined that we might be depleting the national resource and therefore graciously declined.
Our last night of cycle touring was spent camping at Cayo Justia. It took a whole bunch of convincing to get Anita to accept her last challenge but she finally caved into my incessant requests and granted me my final wish: to camp on the beach. The beach at Cayo Justia is beautiful and one day may have one of those all inclusive resorts splayed all over it. Fortunately for the time being there is only a restaurant and if you are polite you can camp there for a night. It wasn't cheap as there were a few different people hanging around with their hands out but we dutifully paid the minimum required to ensure future cyclists are greeted equally enthusiastically. It is a day and night that neither of us will soon forget. We met a couple of Canadian girls that were cycle touring in Cuba (Hannah and Leyla?), an older British woman with her young Cuban boyfriend and Miguel the park/security guard. With the sun setting over the sea and our bellies full of seafood and a few beers the hard sand was a small price to pay for a sleep just 5m from the sea. (Right Anita!? :^)
Our last day on the road ended at Vinales. They say Vinales is Cuba's largest hotel with nearly 300 Casa Particulares. Most of the B&B's only have one room but if your chosen place is full you just knock next door until you find one you like. Vladimir and Gladys were great hosts and they maintained the reputation set by nearly every B&B we had already stayed with in Cuba: great food, lots of food, clean rooms and good beds. Vinales was the end of our line. The end of nearly 12 months of cycling and associated adventures. The beginning of the end of what many might describe as the Honeymoon from Hell but for us it was the end of a beautiful time in our lives and the start of our new life together.
But while the riding was over, in reality the adventure won't ever be over. The next day we had one of those perfect days of travelling. The local baseball diamond was 3 doors down from the B&B so we sat down at about 11am to watch an inning. The players weren't going to get a gig in the American League but the pitchers were throwing some pretty fast balls. While we watched, a local tried to drum up a tour opportunity by telling us about the "Bailer de Gallo" that day and the concert later in the afternoon. We thanked him but declined and set out for the Mural de la Prehistoria. As we started our walk we were very impressed by the karst limestone rock formations. Supposedly the landscape was all up on a plateau but many years ago the underground streams ate away at the limestone and it all gave way and collapsed to form the Vinales Valley of today.
It was VERY hot in the sun and as we strolled we could hear an increasing noise that sounded like rain falling. It was very strange until we found we were being passed by many men riding on horse and cart and realised the noise was coming from people. When one young fellow stepped out of the cart and fell down and his Rum bottle dropped from his hand we knew we had stumbled onto the "Bailer de Gallos", the Dance of the Roosters or Cock fighting. With a little convincing Anita agreed to sit through one round. The Dance of the Roosters is a curious affair. Many people find it too cruel to contemplate never mind watch. To be honest, after so many sleepless nights in Spanish South America BECAUSE of Roosters, I was somewhat morbidly fascinated at the thought of one of those noisy, irritating creatures meeting its maker.
The roosters somehow become agitated in each others company that they start to fight. The owners put spurs on their legs to help the fight but most of it is simply instinct that drives the fight. The crowd is 99% male. They cheer for their favoured rooster. The stadium is behind a bunch of trees and bushes and a LONG way from the town. There are no children. The roosters are plucked to varying degrees to keep them cool and assist their stamina. They are powerful birds bred purely for the purpose of fighting. The owners must surely do some betting but you can see in their eyes that to them the birds are like minature boxers and the fights like a match for the Heavy Weight Belt of the World. It is quite likely that my morals weren't heavily offended as the fight we watched didn't end in obvious death of the loser. There was a clear loser and he might have died later but he was whisked away while the winner was being declared victorious.
It was fascinating to watch their fighting techniques, from their initial contact with neck feathers blazing to the dance and strike of the fight to the final cowing by the loser. It was a little like watching the National Geographic channel but the heat was on, the beads of sweat on my back, the shouts and curses from the crowd, the owner blowing on his rooster and then spitting in its mouth (to keep him cool and give him a drink?) were all real and in full technicolour with surround sound.
With that experience ticked and no need to watch the next round Anita had already shifted to the outside of the ring. We quietly moved on while the betting for the next round began again in earnest. It wasn't long before we saw our friend from the baseball diamond. He was surprised to see us and more than just a little wistful at having missed a tour guide commission. We laughed and wondered if we might stumble onto the concert next.
Our next spontaneous stop was at the farm house of Menebra(?). We were admiring her grinding some coffee beans in a mortar and pestle and soon we were drinking some of her Cuban Pure Organic coffee. I will taste that coffee memory for many years to come. She was very proud of her house with the solar panels from a French NGO providing her enough power for her lights and TV, a stone bowl for filtering drinking water (6L/day) and propane gas for cooking. It was a nice, albeit simple life she had set up. We bought some ground coffee from her and though I couldn't help but wonder that we had been a little "set up" with the mortar and pestle we enjoyed our small donation to her livelihood.
Across the field from Menebra's house we could see the Mural de la Prehistoria. It was started in 1961 and took 5 years to complete. It is an artistic monstrosity from my perspective but it provided the perfect back drop for, yep you guessed it, the concert! We made our way across the field, ate lunch, watched people, lay on the grass, took photos and finally listened to the band. We were finished before the band or crowd so we started our wander home. We were offered a lift in a horse and cart for $5 but I turned it down as I was feeling cheap and we were rewarded by hitching a lift with a car for free. We finished our day feeling tired but fulfilled with that warm glow of doing it your own way, on the cheap and being rewarded with the perfection of everything coming together as though it were pre-planned but completely spontaneous.
The next day we rose early to do some local touring to get some classic Vinales sunrise photos. The photos didn't meet expectations but we did catch Mark and Mary again (Australian couple in Havana) AND then Kare (from Norway). It was brilliant to chat to some other cycle tourists on the bus back to Havana.
Our last day and a half was spent visiting the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, buying some last minute Cuban souvenirs, checking out a few classic sites for the first, second and third times. The Hotel Habana Libre for its sculpture Carro de la Revolucion, the Real Fabrica de Tabacos Partagas for the Cigars, and the Malecon at midnight for its romantic crashing waves and 19th century style street lights.
Would I choose to live in Cuba? I can honestly and emphatically say No!
The libertarians will be pleased and say "Yes, because they have no FREEDOM". The capitalists will cheer and say "Yes, because they are so inefficient and ineffective and lazy they have nothing to BUY". The world of the over-privileged will shout for joy that another of the brethren has returned from such a philosophically dangerous place untainted.
The libertarian and capitalist in me understands and holds these statements so true that can be difficult to even consider another world through a different lens or reflect on a different paradigm. Indeed, we have been fortunate to have had these experiences over the last 12 months precisely because we live in a democratic capitalist economy that allows us to save and then to travel freely for a year. One by-product of this investment is unfortunately new a part of me that has some small trace of compassion in it. And out of this compassion springs somewhere inside of me a happiness in the relative fairness of Cuba. Cuba is safe, Cuba feeds all of its people, Cuba houses all of its people, and Cuba provides an admirable level of Medical care to its people and many in continental South America. In short, Cuba shares what it has relatively equally with its people.
To us in the wealthy “western” economies, life is often about the choices you get to/have to make. Depending on your perspective, the choices many of us make can send us towards either deep depression or delirious happiness – choosing to stay in the wrong relationship, choosing to sell a house at the top of the market, choosing to not face or accept our worst fears, or determining which couch is going to best suit your new flat. Curiously whether you live in Cuba or you are one of the millions of poor in South America your life is so much simpler and more stable because there are so very few choices to make. I do suspect, sadly for democracy and capitalism, if the world's poor, hungry and homeless were given an unbiased, un-bribed, un-tainted choice; they would choose Castro’s Cuba as if it were a fairy tale of indescribable beauty. And of course once they were well fed, housed and doctored they would immediately start yearning for more….more freedom, more stuff, more wealth...
We woke to a blue sky, with only an intent to have a quick walk and a look at the famous Playa Varadero. But as we strolled up the beach we were seduced by the soft sand, turquoise waters and gentle rustling of Royal Palm fronds. There was no way we were leaving that day. After breakfast we took the bikes East along the beach to explore. The resorts from the road were all pretty similar - architectural monstrosities. There were however many very beautiful cars to admire, the odd old fort and an easterly to keep us cool.
We hit the end of the road up near the golf course and laid up against the shade of the limestone wall, read books, admired that glorious Carribean sea and watched the multitudes of 'all-inclusives' stroll beyond their enclaves to explore the white sands of Varadero.
Brendan Sainsbury comments in his guide book that Varadero is nearly as far away from the 'real' Cuba as you can get. Interaction with Cubanos is actively discouraged. There are no Casa Particulares and no Paladares (private restaurants). Everything is owned by the government either in whole or in partnership with off-shore resort companies.
My initial expectation was to be horrified by the place but while culturally vacuous it does carry a calmness about it. In Varadero, there is no stress. It is easy going; just make your contribution to the Cuban economy and enjoy the wonderfully white sands of Varadero. If Sun, Sand, and Salubrious-ness is what you need then book tour trip here tomorrow.
We only stayed two nights but our Cuban degustation had a schedule so we left despite not quite being white sand and turquoise water fulfilled. We rolled on out towards the town of Matanzas. The tail wind was blowing again, right on schedule. We covered the 40km in not much more than an hour. We were truly flying with the road hugging much of the coast; the views were interesting and the road gloriously flat.
We stopped in Matanzas for a mid morning snack with some bread we had purchased across the road from a cute little beach. Bread at a 'Peso Pan' shop costs about 20 cents per loaf. You bring your own bag and it looks like you can buy as much as you want after waiting in the queue. We bought two loaves and enjoyed our (imported) Peanut Butter and (Cuban) Guava Paste sandwiches next to the sea.
In Matanzas we narrowly avoided the Jinetero's trying to sell us accommodation in town by telling us our next destination was 'muy lejo' (very far). We laughed and they regretfully confirmed we were on the right road to Ranchon Gaviota and the Valle de Yumuri.
We climbed with some trepidation in the sweltering heat but as we rolled over the small pass and others confirmed our course and we crossed through the 'Portal of Tranquility'. The portal was unsigned and unmarked but once you were through, you knew you were there. The road was a little rough but somehow that ceased to matter. The tail wind eased us forward and rustled the leaf-less beanpod-filled trees with a hypnotic sound. Anita and I entered a trance like state as our pedalling became effortless. The sounds of the delightful cries of the children playing near the road floated in the air as we approached each tiny hamlet. Many gave us encouraging High-5's like we were running a marathon past their house - which I suppose to them we were.
We stopped at one point to have a rest and a drink and we had to consciously force ourselves to get back on the bikes. The mental will was not to overcome any sort of physical fatigue but rather to overcome the sedentary and almost zen like state of being in the Valle Yumuri which surely must translate to the Valley of Tranquility.
But amazingly we did have the will power and soon enough we found Ranchon Gaviota where we converged with Tour Buses and a 4WD Safari convoy from Varadero. The place was clearly part of the Government run establishment but unlike the usual experience the food was fresh, delicious and bountiful. Thankfully we only ordered one dish but it was enough to feed four people. The post lunch Cafe Cubano (Cuban coffee) was the best coffee I have ever tasted – short black with cane sugar. It was organic, full flavoured and swirled over my tastebuds long after the actual coffee was gone. We sat on the porch and lolled the afternoon away talking to Canadians on tour. Even now, long after our departure I can recall our afternoon at Ranchon Gaviota to the tiniest detail – surely a caffeine fuelled awareness...
After lunch we continued on past a man with Oxen and cart, old brown 1950’s cars and a woman waiting for her son to pick her up with his horse and cart. We had a short conversation with her confirming directions; she was full of smiles and eager to help. We couldn't believe the Cuba we were discovering so close to Varadero and Havana.
We left Valle Yumuri and exited the western 'Portal of Tranquility' and onto the Via Blanca to find a place to sleep for the night. The western portal is marked by an overpass to nowhere, a legacy of the Russian funded highway project in the early 1990’s. As it was the 3rd of April we tried to stay at an All-Inclusive called Villa El Tropico. They said they were full but their attitude suggested they were only 'full'. Discouraged we rolled onto another resort and we were advised that the resort was 'full' or actually Cubano only. By the time we got to the third place, Campismo Los Cocos, that was 'full' we had completely forgotten the Valle of Yumuri and its tranquility and could only recall the irritations of Communist Cuba. Perseverance finally paid off and on our fourth attempt we landed a room at Villa Loma. It was reasonably priced and the food prices were Cubano so dirt cheap. Salvation was ours (mine? :-) and there was still time to salvage a memorable anniversary the following day.
We chilled by the pool to the overpowering sounds of Cubano and English rock music while we watched the Habano (from Havana) families and children enjoy their Saturday evening and weekend away from the big smoke. The kids all knew how to swim and we were amused that both the girls and the boys all grooved to the pumping music between games of tag, ice cream and diving off the rock into the pool.
The next day we biked onto Playa del Este and after another few misses of resorts being duds, 'full', or closed down we finally found Hotel Tropicoco. The room was brilliant with views to the sea, the alcohol was 'free' and the mood on the beach on the Sunday afternoon pure Cuba. It was packed full of Habanos playing music, dancing and drinking. The carnival atmosphere was heavy. Cubano men were hitting on Gringa (foreigner) girls, boozed up gringos were dancing to the groovy tunes of multiple 5 piece bands (trumpets, bass, guitars, percussion), and old men lazed on the beach with their young Jinetera girl 'friends'. It was classic Cuba and it was a very memorable way to spend an anniversary.
We wondered whether it was fair to say we were still on honeymoon when we were celebrating our first anniversary but we decided that the honeymoon would soon be over anyway so why end it now!?
We woke to yet another tail wind that blew us all the way to Cojimar and the birthplace of Hemingway's Noble prize winning Old Man and the Sea. It was very cool to see Gregorio Fuentes' house and eat in La Terraza and check out the old Black and White photos on the wall of Hemingway/Fidel, Gregorio and Santiago (the Old Man). We were only recently introduced to Hemingway and Old Man and the Sea since Lima when we caught up with Duncan. (Thanks mate!). We had listened to the book via an audio version narrated by some perfectly crusty old fellow and even a few months later Anita loves to say in a croaky voice 'I wish the boy was here' ....If you haven't read it, make sure you do soon. It really is one of the best.
It was strange to roll back through Havana/Habana past the forts of El Morro and La Cabana, catch the ferry and ride through Havana Vieja. The ferry ride across the harbour was reminiscent of Sydney except that we were security checked before boarding. We mulled it over and decided it was not to stop terrorists but rather to stop hijackers making off to Miami! In Havana, we met up with some Australians, Mark and Mary, who were asking us questions about cycle touring as they were about to set out on their own journey. We were blessed as our exchange of information gained us some of their chain lube to loosen Anita's front deraileur - a necessity for the Sierra del Rosaria west of Havana.
We caught the tail wind to the beaches west of Havana to Mayda's Casa Particulares and relaxed in preparation for our assault on Vinales the following morning....
Two world Heritage Cities and one Relvolutionary City all in close proximity couldn't be ignored so we got off the bus at Trinidad and chilled for two days and two nights to begin our riding and cultural experience on the central south coast of Cuba.
Our first day was spent chilling in the heat at our lovely Casa Particulares on the roof top terrace drinking 3 year old Havana Club Rum and tuKola and reading “100 years of Solitude” to each other. While Gabriel Garcia Marquez is Colombian and his story is completely Colombian we have learned that the city of Baracoa is possibly the inspiration of his protagonist town, Macondo. We didn't actually visit Baracoa (down near Santiago de Cuba) so the cultural link is tenuous to say the least but it is an excellent story and I was very happy to be re-reading some of it to Anita in the warm afternoon shade. We went for a walk after a delicious dinner and found a Casa de la Trova and enjoyed listening to the music and watching the salsa. Anita was very sad that I wasn't confidant enough to get up and swing her about for a while but we enjoyed being voyeurs none the less.
On our second day we went early to the beach and snuck into another Club Amigo All Inclusive full of more Canadians. We didn't indulge on any food or drink choosing instead to keep a low profile due to our trespassing. We spent most of the day there reading in the shade and paddling about at a great little beach and shallow swimming hole protected from the sea by a big rock shelf. Perfect kids beach if you are thinking to go to Cuba. (Can't vouch for the food or accommodation though.)
Hunger finally spurned us into action and we rode our bikes back to Grill Caribe just a kilometer away. There was a small Mafia ring operating there with a man charging a parking fee. He wanted 50 cents per bicycle. Extortionate when we were within sight of the bikes and his security services were undesired. He seemed to be making good money from the other cyclists and car drivers though so happy days for him!
We did a quick detour to Playa Ancon and the two more expensive resorts. Nice beach but the wind was up so we rolled on 'home' to Trinidad and had a quick chat to Alberto along the way. I am pretty sure he said he was in Athens for the Olympics and ran the marathon in2h15m but I can’t find him on the net so maybe I misunderstood his Spanish (likely). We gave him a big drink of water and declined his offer to purchase him a new pair of running shoes and headed home. He does that run every day so if you want to bring him a pair, you will undoubtedly find him!
That evening we had dinner at the Casa Particulares and dined on MASSIVE lobster. Anita was beside herself with excitement and I have to say that for $15CUC I was pretty pleased with grilled Cuban Langosta myself. We had a great night chatting with two girls living in Amsterdam (one Polish and one Bulgarian). Life doesn’t get much better on the Casa Particulares circuit in Cuba. You are helping to create a middle class, you are getting great food and service, and you are sleeping well knowing that you are helping to subvert Communist ideals and be a force of change.
The next morning we took the scenic route back along the coast near Playa Ancon and via La Boca only to realise that our scenic route had tacked on 20km to our day and we ended up back in Trinidad. It was a little irritating as I got a flat tyre as well but really it was no bother as we got to meet Lazaro and his fish. He was a friendly fellow and you could tell he was dying to have a way to work the tourist trade but to his credit he did not attempt anything. We were finally on our way out of Trinidad by 11 am, smashing through the initial crab carnage and landed at Yaguanabo just 25km later. It was a government resort but the prices were too good to refuse so we called it a day and chilled out for the afternoon chatting to some Norwegians (more of them here in Cuba than in Norway!) and specifically Kare who was planning to start cycle touring in Cuba himself in 2 weeks time. (We did meet Kare again in Vinales on our second last day in Cuba.)
We left early the day to beat the heat and the carnal smell of crushed crab. It is a bit sad to see all of them but they are a victim of their own genetic success thinking that if they stand their ground they will overcome adversity. Unfortunately despite some half hearted weaving on the part of the tour bus drivers the crabs are clearly losing the battle.
Cienfuegos was a lovely town. We enjoyed our walking tour down to the Palacio de Valle. Watching very young Jineteros dance with their middle aged ladies, the Salsa music emanating from the 5 piece band and the views of the sunset all conspired to create a beautiful evening. Cienfuegos is the launching pad for the great Benny More. It is one of my few regrets about Cuba that Anita was too sick for us to go out that night and get more familiar with the great man and his music.
Villa Santa Clara was calling so we bolted out early to beat the head wind. It was a moderately successful strategy but unfortunately the main highlight of the ride for me was some delicious Peso Pizza in a town about 30km from Santa Clara.
The highlight for the day was without doubt the Che Guevara monument. We have been following some of Che’s Motorcycle Diary trail since we arrived in Santiago de Chile. In reality he didn’t actually spend much time on a motorcycle as the bike was a bit of a dud. He is one of the defining figures of South America, a legend that has transcended time and even understanding. I have no doubt that he would be both very proud of and a little disappointed in today’s Cuba. I was pleased to see his resting place as I have a huge amount of respect for his passion and compassion for the people. Even though I have little regard for ‘revolution’ in today’s world, you can't help but be amazed that 12 men were able to overthrow Batista's dictatorship. It was in Santa Clara that Che lead a revolutionary force that effectively scuttled Batista’s army and sent Batista himself scampering overseas forever.
We managed to hop a bus the same evening for Varadero and we were very relieved to finally have a shower about 9pm that night and have a nice dinner with a Belgian/Slovak couple Dona and Bort who were also doing some cycle touring in Cuba. I think they were the only ones on the bus interested in speaking to us do to the odorous environ surrounding our personal space!
While the loop isn’t going to win any awards in the cycle touring game it was a very pleasant ride: it just can’t compete with the south east of Cuba. That said, for a short visit to Cuba, it is an excellent area to visit with its two great UNESCO cities and third immensely historical city. The area certainly deserves more time than we gave it but our Cuban cycle touring degustation must continue!
We actually wanted to finish our year of cycling and touring AT Santiago de Cuba after starting it IN Santiago de Chile. The original romantic plan was to ride East out of Havana and get ourselves to Santiago de Cuba by hook or by crook and maybe a bit by bike and or bus.
After a day of riding our bikes in Havana and feeling the fierce Easterly on our faces, and being reminded by Juan (our Havana Casa Particulares host) and talking to the cyclists in La Floridita that at this time of the year the wind prevails out of the East we recognised that riding TO the East was not going to be very Romantic.
In a spurt of spontaneity we reversed our travel plans and jumped aboard Viazul the premium tourist bus line for Santiago. It didn't start well. We were well used to Capitalist competitiveness and on arriving at the bus station we were greeted by a lady so bored that she might as well have had a hole bored into her head. The epitomy of communist disdain, she couldn't even be bothered to lift her head off of her arm that was resting prone on the serving desk to speak to us. 'No hay boletas’ (There are no tickets) was all we could get from her. We managed to get more sense from the infinitely more helpful information lady in the next booth. She told us that all reservations were taken for the bus but if we waited until 3pm (the bus left at 3:15) then we might pick up a cancellation. It was all very bizarre but we put on our most stoic communist demeanour and began our 3 hour wait. When 3pm rolled around there were indeed, quite magically, available seats and then we had to madly unpack the bikes and load them under the bus. Fortunately, our experience in Colombia had turned me into a speedy bike loader. They fit perfectly upside down with the front wheel and seat off, perched on the rear rack and the front "horns" of the handlebars. Wedged between the bags they were secure and safe.
We arrived into Santiago de Cuba the next morning at 7am and checked into a government hotel with a certain amount of regret as the staff were rather surly but they had internet access and a telephone in the room. Anita had sent out some resumes from Bogota, looking for a job and much to her shock she was being telephoned in Santiago for an interview. It took all afternoon to find the office that sold the internet access card, send 2 emails, and wait for the call. It was all very bizarre but an excellent reminder that our 'real' world was still ticking away at a decent pace out there.
Santiago de Cuba was HOT. You couldn't walk 5 steps without crackin' a sweat. OMG it was HOT and it has been hot historically and culturally for many years. Santiago has an interesting history as a centre for supporting the revolution and for creating some very groovy music. Unfortunately we missed the revolutionary action by about 51 years and a major festival by just 1 day so for us it was simply hot and quiet in Santiago. There were a few bands playing on the streets and one during lunch – but it was enough to get some insight into why Ry Cooder had come to Cuba to record his Buena Vista Social Club album.
We rolled away to the West the next morning and met our first communist community effort when I tried to buy some bread from a man with a horse and cart. His cart was full of bread but he said he could not sell any of it as it was all accounted for in distributing it to the the people. I was impressed by the fact he didn't try to sell me some and make a small profit for himself.
We weren't riding long before we arrived to the sea and the glorious views that would entertain us for the next three days. With turquoise water to our left and the start of the Sierra Maestra to our right and a decent road straight in front we were destined to ride some of the best cycle touring of our lives.
We arrived at Campismo Caleton Blanco hoping to stay the night but they refused us a room as they were too busy painting and prep-ing for a massive influx of guests the next day. We were lucky though as we hung in the shade of the entrance to avoid the heat, Yorke started talking to us and asked if we would like lunch. We said we did and he made like Usain Bolt and sprinted off to organise it. It was all a little strange and under cover as we had to leave separately and meet elsewhere for our clearly illegal lunch. When we arrived at the house of Carlos we had to wait out the front. The two front rooms of his house were destroyed but they were only about 30m to the sea so it seemed likely that Hurricane Dennis had smashed them back in 2005 (I forgot to ask). When we were allowed in we were directed to the back yard of reddish raked earth and chickens and to a table set with a bright white table cloth and good cutlery.
We weren't waiting long before a plate with 5 Barbecue grilled pieces of fish, rice, salad and fried banana came out. The lunch was delectable, the location in the filtered sunlight cool and atmospheric, the sounds of the chickens slowly circling in to the smells of lunch amusing. An ancient, boxy airplane flew overhead while we were eating; Anita thought it might be a spy plane looking for cycle tourists dining illegally but we learned after lunch that it was just the mail plane. The mail is just chucked out the door at each village. Carlos asked us to send him the photo we had taken but not to bother sending any glass ware.
We rode on in the oppressive heat. Anita caught herself some heatstroke and nearly passed out each time we stopped. We met up with Thierry, a French Ex-Pat and his Cuban wife but we couldn't chat for long as Anita was wilting away. On we rode, past beautiful sea views and simple Cuban villages until we reached the turn off to Brisas Sierra Mar. Magically the pavement improved, the lane became shaded and cool and when we arrived at reception we were greeted with our first "all inclusive" Cuban resort. $120USD for two for one night and all you could eat breakfast, lunch and dinner and all you could drink alcohol, cocktails and softdrink. It was like arriving into cyclist heaven.
As we waded across to the swim up bar and watched all the freshly pinked Canadians play volleyball and drink cocktails we revelled in our culture shock. Just down the road was the real Cuba but we were pretty pleased to be in this artificial paradise with sea views, a lovely pool and shade from the sun. The whole thing was a little bizarre. You could drink the water, there was a variety of fruit, vegetables and meat we hadn't seen anywhere for a long while. It seemed a little like a buffet transported from Canada to Cuba, complete with the required Canadians. We talked to some and they were pretty pleased with themselves - $500CAD for a week in paradise including their airfare. $120 seemed very expensive all of a sudden!
The resort has many repeat visitors and was very child friendly. The Scuba diving, by all accounts was first rate. The music entertainment was excellent – surprisingly engaging and entertaining. Despite that dastardly dehydration we drank a good variety of Rum and Coke, Cuba Libres, Pina Coladas, Daiquiris (which originate from near Santiago de Cuba) and even Chilean Red Wine! By the end of the night we felt we had soaked of all the free services on offer at Brisas Sierra Mar.
The next morning we continued to savour the indulgence, soaking in the atmosphere and delayed our departure until 2pm. It was indulgent and we paid the price on the ride. The scenery was magnificent but the heat was on and the sun blinding. Heading west is brilliant with a nice tail wind but it is in your favour to go early to keep the sun on your back. We learned a good lesson for riding in Cuba that day.
Throughout the day I lost count of the number of times the road came within metres of the sea. Often we saw parts of the road washed away - primarily due to the affects of that nasty Hurricane Dennis. No effort has been made to repair the road. Indeed, it is amazing there was even a (mostly) paved road out here. We suspect it was built during the 1980's before the Russian’s communist economy collapsed and they pulled the pin on the cash. In the western world it is very unlikely anyone would have built a paved road out here as there isn't the people or traffic to justify it.
But that is what makes it one of THE great cycling trips in the WORLD. The road did have some rough sections but after Chivirico it was very good for cycling. It was relatively smooth and maybe 10 cars/trucks in the whole day. Horse propulsion is the main stay out here. Either on horseback or on horse and cart, life is slow and unhurried. I suspect it’s too hot to work too hard out here anyway.
We arrived into Campismo La Mula on sunset and we were offered a room with ensuite shower and a "Hopeful" fan for the room. For $10CUC (~$10USD) it seemed too good to be true and in the end it was. The shower didn't work. We enquired and the fellow did something and said it would be ready in 5 minutes. After 20 minutes we gave in and had a bucket wash. No problems.
It wasn't long before we realised that the building was mosquito infested and there weren't screens on the windows. No problems! I was jubilant, after carrying the tent shell for 6 weeks from Quito we were finally going to use it. We relocated the beds, inserted the mattress, strategically placed the fan in the tent and after dinner we crawled into our mosquito free sweat box sleeping environment.
All was going well until about 1230am when the fan named "Hopeful" died. At first we thought it had over heated but then quickly realised it was because the generator had been shut down. Bugger. As the sweat began to pore we evacuated our nylon sauna, opened the front and back doors of the room, relocated the tent to catch the maximum breeze in the corridor and settled in again. It was still an oven but now the heat was turned down so we survived the night intact.
In the morning while packing, we met Norbert, a German version of the French fellow Damien we had met in Peru: strong on the bike, and passionate about cycling touring, the only difference being that he carried a map. At 58 he soon proved that even after a year on the bikes we were no match for either his power or his passion. He patiently waited at the top of each hill and over the day we convinced him that the next all inclusive at Marea de Portillo was an excellent investment for replenishing the body with an inexhuastible supply of food and drink.
The prices were expensive for singles at $93CUC, alright for doubles at $116CUC and reasonable for triples at $159CUC. We offered to Norbert to share our room as a triple. After nearly a year of honeymooning I found it quite amusing that we were sharing the 'honeymoon suite'. We didn't tell Norbert until during dinner. I think he was mortified and I was then even more amused.
The resort wasn't quite up to Brisas Sierra Mar standards but the drinks were good and the food endless. We talked to a 70 year old lady from Hamilton Canada. She had been going to the Club Amigo at Marea del Portillo for years. She kept going back as she had a wonderful rapport with the staff. They called her Grandma and she always brought a suitcase full of clothes to her favourite family. The all-inclusives get a bad rap at times – culturally vacuous, and at odds with the local surrounds. Certainly I have never before been a fan. Indeed, even in Colombia the thought of staying in one would have filled me with dread. They are, however, a mainstay of foreign income for Cuba and as evidenced by ‘Grandma’ they can clearly foster international relations at a very human level.
I was especially intrigued by the attendance of a number of Cubanos at the resort. They were over-weight, heavily gold chained up and they carried an air of confidence with them. It was intriguing as they were not typical Cubans who appear to me as generally very slight, with little jewellery and while proud are certainly not arrogant. In a land that heralds equality it was clear that some Cubanos are 'more equal' than others.
We slept well and left early the next day after an enormous breakfast. In Cuba I have this insatiable need to eat whenever food is in front of me. It isn’t so surprisingly, really, as the only places to easily get decent food is in restaurants or casa particulares. Cuba carries all the signs of a calorie constrained country with its plethora of shops and small Cubano restaurants that seem to sell little more than soft drink, Rum, very plain pizza and plasticised sandwich rolls. You never really know where your next decent meal might be.
We rolled onto tiny Pilon where we made a sad goodbye to the Carribean sea and three of the best riding days ever. Australia is proud of the Great Ocean Road, California brags about Highway #1 on its west coast and Canada of Nova Scotia’s Cabot Trail but for cycling I haven't ridden anything that matches La Ruta del Mar Magnifico (my own name for it) for simply amazing views, quiet (mostly) paved roads, and tranquility.
We left the coast and headed up and over the shoulder of the Sierra Maestra. It was just south of us in December 1956 where Fidel and the other 80 odd barbuda's (the bearded ones) jumped off their Mexican boat, the Granma and spent three days wandering around trying to figure out how to start a revolution. Indeed, the revolution nearly ended before it started as Batista's army routed them out of a sugar cane field and killed all but 12 of the men. The remnants of Fidel's revolutionaries (including Che Guevara) scampered up into the mountains of the Sierra Maestra that we had rode next to for three days to begin the Revolution. They won it just 2 years later in early 1960.
The climb was a bit steep but manageable. The descent was wonderfully gentle and long with an effortless tail wind pushing us back to another coastline. At the junction for Nequero we said goodbye to Norbert and turned north to Manzanillo. It was a long day of over 100km riding in a hot cross wind but we were buoyed by the constant waves and smiles of the local people. In a tiny town called Media Luna we ate our sandwiches acquired from the 'all inclusive grocery store' at Marea del Portillo and watched a feisty game of dominos. They invited me to play but we decided to roll on as there was no official hotel in town.
In Manzanillo we wanted to stay in a Casa Particulares but they were all full so we opted for a government hotel which was actually very good value albeit a pastel and washed out colour, culturally speaking. We were fortunate though as it had recently reopened after the Mision Milagros had finished. The Mision Milagros was (is?) a Cuban program where Cuban doctors had operated on hundreds of thousands of underprivileged (mostly) Venezualans and Bolivians to help restore their sight. It is an impressively altruistic program to say the least. (I couldn’t find many links in English for Mision Milagros which is surprising as it does form a significant propaganda opportunity for Cuba...)
The next morning we pushed on into the head wind and went north east to Bayamo. It was a tough old day and a good reminder that the dastardly Easterly was indeed blowing nearly ever day and offering suffering to those who dared to ride against her will. In the town of Yara we stopped for 5 cent USD ice cream and then 20 cent USD pizza. It wasn't Coppelia ice cream and it wasn't Garage Pizza but the price to quality ratio was spot on. It was better value than some of the 'CUC' meals we had purchased in Cuba already.
1 Cuban Convertible/CUC = 1.2 Euro = 0.93 USD or about 1USD
1 CUC or ‘kook’ = 24 Moneda Nacional
1 peso ice cream = about 5 cents USD
5 peso pizza = about 20 cents USD
It is very interesting to be out in the country towns as the currency is almost solely Moneda Nacional. The minimum wage (we understand) is about 225 Pesos/Moneda Nacional or less than $10CUC per month. We met one fellow whose son was a manager and earned (from memory) 400 Pesos + 20CUC per month or about 36CUC in total). The dual currency is confusing at first but as you get used to it you can save some money and also get more of a 'real' Cuban experience. That said, a ‘real’ Cuban experience generally (not always) involves queueing for an extenuated period to obtain a product that is generally (not always) substandard.
In Bayamo we found a Casa Particulares and paid half price just to have a shower and somewhere cool to relax until our bus departed at 10pm for Trinidad. Jesus (pronounced 'Hay-Zus') was one of the sons of the house. He seemed to enjoy being a tour guide for us and practising his English on us.
I spent about half and hour talking to one of his friends/neighbors from down the street. He was 23 and in his last year of an Arts degree. He either suspected me for an undercover Cuban Communist police spy or he was genuinely happy with the government and the system and way of life. Bayamo is a very small town and seems to be relatively prosperous, clean and tranquil. He looked fit and loved lifting weights (His arms were nearly as large as my thighs!) but what was interesting was his passion for being Cuban, his pride in living in a safe town with little or no crime, and the relative equality of his countrymen. I mentioned to him the distressing poverty we saw on the Colombian coastal cities of Barranquilla and Santa Marta and the children that were literally starving in the street and he was justifiably proud of the reality that such a thing would not happen in Cuba.
He didn’t think Cuba was perfect. He was, for example, clearly not happy that internet access was heavily restricted and almost non-existent. I don’t think Cuba is perfect. The list imperfections are long and heavily detailed by the opponents of Communism. As someone who feels he has been lucky to have been largely ahead of the average I certainly have no desire to live in a highly average communist society where mediocrity, motivation and malaise are often the name of the game. That said, it is fascinating to see a completely different societal paradigm at work. It is a paradigm that does actually work (not always efficiently) and one that encourages collaboration rather than overt competitiveness. We have already seen strong and clear evidence on our 5 days in the countryside of Cuba that it is a society that strives for equality and fairness rather than heralding the advantages of being a ‘have’ over the ‘have-nots’.
We left Bayamo and south-east Cuba feeling warm from both the heat of the weather but also from the friendliness and fervent communist behaviour of the people. Clearly many people are happy with their lot and they are not searching out a new revolution in the short term. It is the first experience I have had where a country is ensuring that all its citizens have a house, good water and enough food. Cuba does have some environmental horrors on its bank balance but generally they are treading very lightly on the planet.
We were pretty excited to touch down in Cuba. The sun, beaches, music, architecture and flat terrain were calling. Although we did get a taste of each of these in Colombia, travelling to Cuba had a different appeal: to experience a fully left wing, Socialist/Communist country.
For the past 10 months or so, it would be fair to say that we have been left off the leash and enjoyed the freedom travelling in countries without many rules. The freedom of riding our bikes on occasion against the traffic, travelling in the back of over packed trucks, taking our bikes into restaurants with us, playing dumb at comprehending Spanish when convenient and as a tourist pretty much getting away anything that the relaxed officials let us get away with. Our biggest cultural shock yet was arriving into paranoid communist Cuba, and having those privileges stripped and abiding by so many rigid rules.
We were greeted at the airport by some stiff customs staff who abruptly queried my nationality before snatching my passport away. It got handed around to the point where I lost sight of it and I spent the next half an hour wandering around the airport asking the whereabouts of this precious document. Eventually the security guard who had scanned our luggage piped up and demanded 'Esperar!' (Wait!!). We waited and waited and waited whilst I thought back to a blurb in the Lonely Planet, where it described it was not uncommon for a Cuban to be standing in queues for hours just to be served an ice cream. But I wasn't Cuban, nor was I waiting for an ice cream.....I was a suspected UK terrorist waiting for the interoggation process to begin. The Officer fired with the usual streamlined questions: nationality, country of residence, age, purpose of visit. He then went onto a series of seemingly quite bizzare questions, do you have a camera? What size is it? Does it have a big lens? How much money do you have? Why are you travelling on a UK passport if you live in Australia? Why are you travelling on bicycles?
But when you reflect on the fortress mentality of Cuba the questions probably aren't so crazy. Cuba undoubtedly feels very insecure residing next to its neighbor to the north, a country that openly admits to influencing 'regime change' to assist its own hegemony and political influence. It wasn't so long before the questions were answered and the answers accepted and we were out in the foyer of the airport, unpacking our bikes and racing the daylight to ride into Havana.
As we rolled out into the communist landscape we reflected on the excellent Tourist Information booth, the cleanliness of the airport and the road signs pointing us to Havana. Stuart was excitedly talking about our third 'Havana' ahead sign when we realised that there were no more signs, the rain had started and we seemed to be going the wrong way. A 5 km detour nearly landed us back at the airport.
We rolled into the city at dusk and hitched onto the back of a Cuban cyclist heading in the same direction who kindly helped us find our way. He rode a very rusted old Chinese made squeaky bicycle that has probably been a family heirloom for many generations. A bike that we would probably consider to be trash was this man's treasure. He proudly pointed to it, announcing the gear ratios and its inherent steely strength. We left the old man a block or two away from our Casa Particulares (a Bed & Breakfast, but without breakfast) and thanked him for his help. Sangita, who we had met on 'the Lost City' trek in Colombia, had booked us a nice two bedroom apartment in the heart of Old Havana and was waiting for us. We had the whole place to the three of us. Once we had lugged our bikes up four floors and around the tight bends, it was perfect! The balcony looked over the rooftops of Old Havana and down the charming pedestrian street of Calle Obispo, where all the action happens.
The next day, some early morning commotion had us bolting to the balcony to watch a loud, albeit civilised protest of people that clearly were not in favour of their current government. We queried about it later to a hotel/bar staff person who brushed it off and said, ‘muy complicado’ (it’s very complicated). It was our first experience of interacting with people without the freedom of speech and we remembered that it was illegal to speak against the Cuban government. Over the coming weeks we learnt just how seriously this rule was adhered to.
After a breakfast at a 'French' patissere we leisurely took to the streets of Havana to see why this place is like no other in the world. Havana is, to put it simply, one un-touched up tourist town and a giant living museum. There are believed to be some 60,000 vintage cars in Cuba's cities. In the 1950’s Chevrolets, Buicks and Cadillacs manufactured from the United States inundated the Caribbean market so much to the point that Havana once boasted to have more cars per capita than anywhere in the Western Hemisphere. Fascinating! But the revolution and the US-Cuban relations changed all that and put a consumer stop to the motor industry. Forced to adapt, in order to survive, the innovative Cuban motorists have reinvented themselves as supposedly the world's best mechanics. The classic car these days has been made up with calediscope of parts from all sorts of machinery to work around the US-Cuba trade embargo. It's not unusual to see a semi trailer that has been converted into a bus, equipped with seats or a tractor-bus trailer pulling human cargo. The inventions go far beyond motorised vehicles too such as unique locking mechanisms in the houses or retro horse carts made with old car axles. Necessity is clearly the mother of invention in Cuba!
But cars aside, the old world is still existent. Go to many of the 'supermarkets' and all the products are kept behind the counter and run up on an old till or via a book. Weight is measured by counter weight scale. Houses have retro fridges, coloured sanitary wear and furniture, clocks, radios & crystal-ware are very antique in style. . Book stores seem to only contain vintage propaganda material. Apart from the buildings that have had some UNESCO funds poured into them, building development in Havana seems to have stopped 50 years ago and structures have slowly deteriorated and sucumbed to concrete cancer – especially near the coast. But beyond its grittiness it has true authenticity. The front doors of those same beautiful buildings that line the footpaths, which in a capitalist country would have been prime highly exposed commercial retail property, are now often left wide open giving the passer-by a glimpse of life in a Habano home. It is often cramped with people but with few possessions. Accommodation is free for Cubans, although housing shortages mean that often 3 or 4 family generations need to live under the same roof. Their few antiquated possessions though basic in nature are like heirlooms to the family and are a reflection of the life story of each home. Catching the odd glimpse into the houses add another dimension of personality to the city, the real-life Cuba beyond the glossed up tourist attractions. It is all these homes, the cars, the streets and the Cuban way of living that makes Cuba one gigantic museum. It is almost as if all progress halted the day Fidel Castro took control.
We were first interested in seeing the ‘Granma’ boat, housed at the Museo del Revolucion (Revolution Museum), which Fidel Castro, along with 81 rebels on board, used to rise up against Batista and lead the War on Revolution. Of the 82 soldiers only 12 managed to escape after landing ashore on December 2, 1956, in the province now called ‘Granma’. These 12 then split up into three tiny groups and lead the War on Revolution which against all odds was won on January 5, 1959. The ‘Granma’ boat is now housed in a heavily guarded glass box, presumably to stop people from breaking in and taking off in it to Florida! The Museum itself is now housed in the old Presidential Palace, whose interior decoration was done by Tiffany’s of New York. The Palace was also the site of an unsuccessful assassination attempt on Batista in 1957. The exhibition was quite interesting in showcasing a documentary and photographic account of the Cuban Revolution, the government’s regime pre-revolution and anti US slogans. Unsurprisingly, it was completely one-sided but fascinating to say the least. A must see for anyone planning to visit Habana.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent strolling and soaking up the atmosphere of Old Havana. Cafeterias and restaurants, busy with patrons; musicians filled the air with rich, vibrant and soulful music that Cuba is famous for. Just lovely!!
Feeling the desire to explore the music scene into greater depths, Sangita, Stuart and I visited the La Casa de la Musica, were all the top performers play. It was midweek but the house seemed to pull in a late night crowd that filled the floor and flaunted their salsa, rumba and mambo moves. They were impressive and better entertainment than the on-stage performers themselves. We purchased a bottle of rum, because that is what you do here. Alcohol is not served by the glass, unless you are after a cocktail. The rum provided the necessary encouragement that was needed to get up and dance amongst experts. We must have drunk about three quarters of it, before I was pulled out to the dance floor and the rum remained unguarded. I kept an eye on it from the distance, but as we got lost in the fun of the night, it disappeared. In retrospect, it was probably for the best due to our advanced state of inebriation but it was a good reminder that if you don’t care for what you have, someone else will!
Havana is a fantastic city to explore on bikes. It’s flat, picturesque and has few cars. We rose bleary eyed after our late night out and with some bicycle gymnastics took our bikes down the four floors and hit the streets to explore the greater city. We rode past the old forts and along the Malecon where the waves crashed over the wall, to the richer, once notorious mafia-run suburbs of Vedado, Playa and Marianao. As we got closer to these suburbs, where diplomats are known to live, we saw an increasing presence of policemen on many corners. As we approached one corner and we prepared ourselves to cross the street back onto the Malecon a whistle squealed near our ears. A policeman stopped us, saying that turning left here was far too dangerous and he made us take the urban back streets. Fair enough I thought.....if there were to be a danger. There was four lanes of traffic each way and barely a car on them, but what’s a little detour anyway. We rode down one block and crossed the road to the Malecon once again. Safely across, we picked up our bikes and continued along the Malecon footpath, laughing with a slightly arrogant tone at the ridiculousness of the officer. Unsafe?!....have you ridden through South America? To us, Cuba and riding in Cuban traffic seems like the safest place IN THE WORLD. There is an oversupply of infrastructure, minimal traffic and gracious, patient drivers who give you plenty of space. As we continued to laugh about his need to exert his authority, we hit a 10m section of seawater slime, in which I came crashing down from my bike and skidded most of the way. Ewwwww!!!! I was covered in green slime from shoulder to backside and just as we were on our way to El Aljibe, a fancy dining place, for lunch. Where was our militant safety officer now?
The weather was hot enough to allow me to dry off relatively quickly and we chose a seat where I could sit on my unbruised cheek with my green back to the wall, so really it didn’t matter. The food was delicious, the beer cold and we rolled away stuffed full like ground beef in a capsicum! El Aljibe is a private “Paladar” in the Embassy district. Not cheap by any stretch of the imagination but a great example of private enterprise in Communist Cuba – great service and delicious food. A combination that is very difficult to find in government run restaurants.
We precariously rode back to the Malecon, via the Necropolis Cristobal Colon and through the back streets of Vedado. Along the streets, I was intrigued about some funky street furniture that caught my eye. One was a table made from an old redundant safe. Others were made from old fire hydrants. The table tops were made of concrete, some tiled with chess boards. The seats were made from prefabricated terrazzo stair risers and treads. It was further evidence of the creative use of trash being converted into a useful piece of street furniture that residents enjoy using daily. Nothing is wasted here. We stopped by a table to have a chat with two Cuban gentlemen who had taken up a match of street chess. One of the men was boasting with pride how he himself was putting in the labour and materials to further beautify his already beautiful street. He had a much deserved pride in his neighbourhood and Havana. As we were to learn, he was typical of Cuban peoples – gracious, generous and passionate.
The wind had been blowing hard from the east all day and the ride back along the Malecon towards Havana Vieja to the east, had us doubting our planned route to cross the island riding east to Santiago be Cuba. There was something nice about being able to say that we rode from Santiago de Chile to Santiago de Cuba for our honeymoon but as our eyes slitted against the headwind we were wondering if this claim of fame was worth the effort of doing our final 1000km in strong headwind.
A visit to Havana would not be complete without following some of the trail of the great Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway was known to be a bar hopper, so there was no shortages of places to stop over – Ambos Mundos Hotel, La Bodeguita del Medio and El Floridita. El Floridita was next to our Casa Particulares and famous for its Pape Hemingway Special – a Limon daiquiri. At $6CUC a pop, it was expensive (equating to half a month’s salary for a Cuban) and unsurprisingly there were only tourists slurping down this divine drink....I had two!
It was at La Floridita where we identified other MEC (Mountain Equipment Co-op) Canadian cycling attire and joined five other cyclists to hear about their cycling adventurers in Cuba. We had a great time talking shop in the La Floridita. One fellow had ridden from San Francisco to Ushuaia and the others had done many tours of Cuba. They also illuminated us on the threat of Easterly winds in Cuba. We headed home that night intrigued by quirky Havana, excited about our upcoming rides, and mentally prepared to reconsider our travel plans in Cuba.
Ahhhh... We were rolling again. It was such pure pleasure to be free, with some fresh air in the face and some wind on our backs. It was simply gold to say goodbye to the bus and say hello to the Colombian countryside.
That said, the weather was very grey and drab as we climbed out of the university town Tunja. The 300m climb from 2800m was a bit of a puff guster after arriving from sea level the day before but the pitch was forgiving and once over the top we were going to be rewarded with a nearly 1000m drop. The views and weather improved as we rolled over the other side and began our delicious descent to Villa de Leyva.
Villa de Leyva is a favourite tourist destination for Bogotanos. Though less than 200km from Bogota, the town has been frozen in time. Cobble stone streets, whitewashed walls, old Haciendas and their courtyards converted to restaurants and hotels all made for a picture perfect stop for a few nights.
Unfortunately despite some great meals and happy aimless wandering, Villa de Leyva will always be a little tarnished for us. Anita woke on our departure date with a terribly stiff neck. The cobble stones and slippery cycling shoes didn't help the situation so after getting to the edge of town and the start of the bitumen we stopped. Any determined further forward progress was useless so we checked into the hotel across the street.
Hospederia Santa Clara was run by a "Cindy Moussa" twin (an ex-work colleague from Vodafone) with similar features and an identical laugh. I loved her immediately as she discounted the room, organised a physiotherapist for Anita, brought us up a coffee and intermingled a genuine laugh at every pause in the conversation.
Dora the physiotherapist was actually very good at her job but unfortunately she was also very good at thieving. Before I left the hotel room to allow Anita some privacy, I paused momentarily considering to close the bureau. I did not as an illustration of undeserved trust. About an hour after Dora had left I went to get my prescription sunglasses from the case before we went out and discovered them missing. We immediately recognised the theft but spent 20 minutes going through our bags to be certain. In reality we hadn't unpacked much so it was soon clear and there was no doubt: we had been robbed.
We asked Diana to call Dora. Dora returned but she completely denied any knowledge. I begged her to just return the prescription glasses explaining that they were of no use to her. There was a glimmer of realisation but she continued to deny. We called the police but he said she had nothing on her so there was no proof. Just our word against hers.
We stubbornly accepted the reality. Dora asked us if we still wanted her to return the following morning via the policeman. We chortled out a laugh and said we would prefer to never see her again in our lives.
By sunset we had some semblance of a Police report. It had taken three attempts to get the final result. It wasn't going to get any better so fingers crossed NRMA do the right thing by us.
We rolled out the next morning but Anita wasn't really any better and at the half way point Anita pulled the pin and jumped into a collective taxi. She left with 3 others and her bike. It was the only time we have travelled separately in more than 10 months. It was strange to be chasing her up a 400m pitch hoping she wouldn't have any hassles in the next town of Chiquinquira.
I survived the hill and the pack of about 7 or 8 dogs that "bark" attacked me. I had antagonized one irritating little bugger but his barking drew out a couple of big monsters that had me a bit nervous. I kept trying to draw them left into the oncoming traffic but only two cars came along. I held my pace and I finally drew out of their protection zone and I was allowed to proceed alone.
At the top was a lovely plateau and making it a fast roll into Chiquinquira. Green grass, cows, trees, friendly smiles and waves greeted me but what really spurned me on was the dark rain clouds closing in. I managed to just make it and find a happy Anita in our agreed hotel with the help of some very friendly townsfolk.
Anita was glowing about the town. She too had been helped by the taxi man, her fellow passengers, people on the street and in the hotel. It was astonishing simply for the quantity of helpful people. They were everywhere. Almost like a spooky twilight zone friendliness except not spooky just genuine nice people. They got our vote for the FRIENDLIEST town in South America award.
Chiquinquira is supposedly famous all over the Catholic world for its painting of the Virgen Mary - Senora de Rosaria. A rich woman back in the 1500's bought the painting. She loved it despite it being water stained and colour faded. She prayed before it every day until the miracle happened and it was magically restored before her eyes.
At first sight we were VERY dubious. The painting looked VERY fresh. Very fresh indeed. Anita had another massage and we had an early night. As we checked out the next morning we saw a poster of the famous painting and it was different! We had seen a copy..... the wrong painting. We headed back and in the center of the altar was a similar but far more authentic and quite beautiful looking painting. I am still not sure I believe in the miracle but definitely less of a dis-believer! :-)
We rolled out of town feeling light as though our new Guardian Angel the Senora del Rosaria was guiding our way to a great cycling touring day. We knew we were on a winner when we randomly stopped in front of a school and 20 deliriously excited school kids aged from 6-9 ran up to the fence calling "CYCLISTAS!!". It was all quite amusing as we asked them questions and they chorused back their answers. The name of their professora, their ages, where they all lived and so on. Their teacher soon arrived to investigate the commotion. She introduced all of them one by one and then asked out of all the countries we cycled in which was our favourite. We immediately answered "Colombia!!" and their hilarious response was to start clapping in unison. We couldn't help but laugh. Absolutely gorgeous.
We rode away feeling full of cycle touring gold. Our grins carried us all the way to a strawberry patch and lunch. Two fresh off the vine bowls and lunch later we could no longer grin as our bellys were too full! OMG. Delicious. At 50c per bowl it was pure will power that got us away from there.
When we rolled into Ubate we were not so impressed. The day was grey and raining. We checked out 3 different hotels that ranged from slumpy single beds to full/no room to sleazy. We had seen a promising sign on our way in. We didn't give up hope and our patient pursuit paid off. Pretty expensive at ~$40 for the room but the swimming pool and breakfast pulled us in.
Soon we were paddling about the pool and I was showing off to the 5 young fellows. A Stuart Kane version of the Individual Medley: Butterfly, Freestyle, Breaststroke and Backstroke. Anita took it easy so as not to wreck her neck.
I was soon chatting to Andres, Frank, Jairo, Elmer and Andres and it wasn't long before they asked me to give them swimming lessons! Hilarious. I have never given a swimming lesson in my life. Between Anita and I we cooked up some drills and after nearly 2 hours we wore them out. Not sure that they were swimming any better by the end but we all had a stack of fun.
A great meal with a great sunset closed a Golden day on the road. We slept on a firm bed in a quiet, dark room as though were in heaven.
The next day we rode to Zipaquira. A Golden day it was not. A narrow two lane road with some of the worst driving we have seen anywhere. The Truckers were horrendous. I don't ever remember seeing so many trucks passing on double lines and blind corners. More than once we saw cars and vans having to swerve into the ditch to avoid a head on collision with the semi-trailer truck bearing down on them in their lane! It became very scary and at one point a truck passed us so closely that I had to stop and catch my breath and slow my heart rate before getting out there again.
We rolled into Zipaquira feeling frazzled but anxiety turned quickly to relief as the Lonely Planet recommendation was perfect. Cheap, clean, cheerful and close to La Catedral de Sal - The Cathedral of Salt.
We didn't have high expectations for La Catedral de Sal so when we arrived and were taken down the tunnel of the retired Salt Mine we were rather entralled. The old tunnel mining system had been converted into 12 chapels with each marking the steps of Jesus and the crucifixion. Some of the chapels were very beautiful but the statues, baptism altar and the main Cathedral were astounding. Beautifully lit, the arches and colonades made for an incredible and contemporary setting. You might almost become a Catholic just for the honour of attending a church service there... :-)
The entry included a tour guide in English and an animated 3D movie on the history of the area and the mine. I was intrigued to learn that the Conquistador Jimenez was diverted from his journey to find the source of the River Magdelena by some interesting Salt Cakes that were being transported by the local indigenous. He hooked left and climbed up onto the mighty plateau and found Zipaquira and later founded nearby (Santa Fe de) Bogota. Yet another example of history being serendipitously guided (at least from a Spanish perspective!).
The salt deposit was formed a few hundred million years ago when an inland sea dried up and then was folded under by the compaction of the Andes squeezing and squashing it up to ~2500m and then pushing it under a mountain at ~2800m.
The next morning we rode towards Bogota and after about 10km we met up with Juan Pablo Torres. We had met Juan Pablo in Peru between the towns of Huaraz and Caraz. We only spent about 20 minutes chatting with him and giving him some tips for the road ahead but possibly my delirious excitement of meeting another cycle touring "brother" out on the road left an impact. Juan showed us the relatively quiet way into Bogota through some lovely back lanes and to his house where we were going to be based for our week in Bogota.
At first we were a little taken a back at the generosity being shown by Juan and his mother Helena. Before we knew what was really going on, we were given our own room with a massive king sized bed, offered a shower (and accepted), and fed a delicious lunch. It didn't take long before we caught up on news of Juan's trip, his future plans, his work and his family. It didn't take long before Helena had adopted us as her own children giving us a kiss and a hug at every greeting or goodbye.
Indeed by the time 6 days had passed we felt part of the Torres family. Anita loved spending some time in a real kitchen. We loved talking to Juan about the sociology, politics and economics of Colombia. Juan's command of English was excellent and as a Political Science major he was keenly interested and understood the reality of Colombia. And as the election for Congress and nominations for the Presidencial election (May 2010) were held during our stay it made the conversations all the more topical and interesting.
Juan took us cycling through Bogota, out for lunch with his friend Roberto (and Roberto's girl friend and friend: Edith and Connie), to visit his cycling hero's shop Miguel Samaca, to the Zona Rosa for beers before the dry spell hit (no alcohol for 50 hours during the election time), out for dinner with his father Hernando and another evening out with Julia.
After 6 days in Bogota we hadn't really done many touristy things but we had caught the TransMilenio and commuted like locals, lived in the suburbs, ridden around on our bikes and slept in the house of real live Colombians.
Bogota at 8 million people is not without its problems. You would be foolish to let your guard down prett much anywhere. We didn't visit the rougher suburbs to the south but the north is chock full of medium density housing blocks. It is well connected by public transport and bicycle lanes. Similar to Quito it has its own version of the Ciclo Paseo and every Sunday (except election day) there are some 100+km of roads closed to traffic to allow safe cycling. (indeed Quito might have picked the idea from Bogota). From what we learned there are many impressive international music and theatre festivals each year. We saw for ourselves the very impressive Museo del Oro - Museum of Gold - with artefacts gathered from archeological digs all over Colombia.
We really were quite sad to say goodbye. We have met many people here in South America but we found a new true brother here in Bogota. I am quite sure we will see Juan again somewhere. Maybe in Colombia or maybe on a new shared adventure somewhere else. And I do hope we get to eat again from Helena's kitchen: our tastebuds are gagging for the chance but our waistlines are relieved of the temptation that is now more distant.
Colombia is a place typical of South America: from the vast wealth to the starving children, to the highly literate to the destitute and desperate. While Juan disagreed and felt Peru was more poor and desperate I think Anita and both felt that we saw more desperate people in Colombia. The desperate boys who begged for our food scraps on our plate in Santa Marta, the dark eyes of the hungry in Barranquilla, the anxiety generated by the "crack head" female invading our personal space near Miguel Smaca's bike shop were in stark contrast to the ambience of Cafe del Mar in Cartegena or the carnival atmosphere on a sunny Sunday in Salento or the cacaphony of revellers in Zona Rosa, Bogota in anticipation of the Seco Ley (Dry Law) and "no mas alcohol por 50 horas".
Colombia is not the terrifying landscape that creates its infamous reputation: the land of drug lords, the leftist FARC and assassinations of own goal soccer players. It is a land of beautiful people proud of their beautiful landscapes and regions. It is a country made from highly disparate regions that somehow manage to remind themselves that they are also part of Colombia.
It is the land of 100 years of Solitude (by Gabriel Garcia Marquez) and after reading it you can see the quirky country through his eyes. The Red liberals fighting the Blue conservatives and only finding peace by shutting out their common enemy - the left and creating a rod for their own backs that lasts until today.
The outgoing President Uribe has given the people some measure of peace in the last 8 years but the power of cocaine still fuels this underdeveloped economy and where there is easy money there is nasty politics and nasty business.
The country is as safe to travel as Peru or Ecuador but there is a reason you see all those troops on every highway and bi-way of Colombia. There is a reason the troops gave everyone a thumbs up on election day. There is a reason why union leaders go missing in Colombia. There is a reason why the FARC is dying but is not yet dead. There is a reason why Colombians live in the cities, the mountains and on the Caribbean coast and 2/3 of the country is essentially empty. There is a reason why Colombians are so friendly. It takes time to learn the reasons but with time comes understanding and appreciation of a complex culture that is still finding its place in the world. Its potential to be one of the great nations is staggering.
I only make one recommendation potential visitors to Colombia. Go now while the rest of the world is still too afraid.
The Colombian tourist brochure has adopted the slogan: "The only risk is that you will want to stay" rings true. We wished we could have stayed and tasted some more but Cuba beckoned and we accepted her call...
Posts
