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Published: January 18th 2009
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Jo had a lousy night suffering from the heat and the bloke next door was snoring. I woke just before breakfast at 0800. Elizabet phoned ahead to Santa Clara for us to book with the person from Nicholas’ list for two nights and also showed us where we could buy a bag for our assorted market junk. We were nearing the end of our travels so carrying an extra bag was far less of a hassle. The bag cost CUC 11 and easily carried my humidor and cigars, our various trinkets and heavy clothes that the weather dictated were no longer required.
It was already 1030 and we just had time for a 5 peso pizza (NZ0.20) each before we boarded the 1100 hop-on hop-off bus to Playa Ancon Beach 12km south of Trinidad on the Caribbean coast. The beach itself was nice but unspectacular despite Lonely Planet’s review stating that “for most peoples money it is the finest arc of sand on Cuba’s southern coast”. If you’re looking for a Caribbean beach holiday - go to the Bahamas. The overcast conditions didn’t help the vibe, neither did the fairly decrepit tourist resort alongside. A few hundred metres away in
an inlet was Marina Marlin, the base for diving and fishing expeditions, this too had clearly seen better days and the contrast of modern catamarans sitting unused next to a fishing vessel that we thought was a wreck but ended up setting sail across the bay was too obvious to miss. The bus dropped us at another 5 peso pizza joint back in Trinidad and we headed back to our casa where we had a Spanglish conversation with Elizabet’s brother about Boca Juniors and Diego Maradona.
About 20 minutes walk north of Trinidad is Ermita de Nuestra Senora de la Candelaria de la Popa - an old Spanish military hospital with views over the city. The overcast day didn’t help my photos at all but the local pub that we wandered into made it worth the walk. As light rain fell we ended up taking cover in a small corner bar patronised by two drunk, crazy old guys and four dogs. One of the guys decided to try and strike up a conversation. I never really got the gist of what he was trying to say but it included much high-fiving and saluting. In the mean time the other
bloke, clearly a few levels short of a Sky Tower, danced by himself telling his mate something about tourist police and going to jail. I don’t think Jo liked it much but it was a real highlight for me.
As the rain faded we walked back past the gallery where we had bought our first Che painting and were talking to the shop assistant when we were joined by two older, outgoing and drunk Irish guys. At one point in the conversation I made the observation that I had never met an Irishman that I didn’t like - quick as a flash one retorted “My mate Dean will be here in a few minutes - you won’t like him!” We didn’t wait to meet Dean, instead getting a few Bucaneros at Casa de la Trova - one of which I dropped, smashing the glass and spilling beer all over my diary as I was writing. The staff rushed over and cleaned up as I apologised. The barman even took my diary away and dried it somewhere. Whilst in Casa de la Trova we met up with Robbie, an Englishman whom we had met very briefly after our bus trip
from Viñales to Havana. We chatted about the usual backpacker stuff and before we knew it, it was 2 1/2 hours and 9 Bucaneros later.
We walked back to Casa de Hospedaje in light rain for another fine lobster dinner at 1800. We returned to Casa de la Trova but couldn’t find Robbie and called it a night at 2100. We got to sleep almost immediately.
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