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Published: January 27th 2007
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Statue of Hatuey
A Taíno chief. Executed by the Spanish, he is now claimed as a Cuban hero and the first fighter against colonialism in the Americas. The next morning, I got up early to catch the five hour bus to Baracoa.
Waiting for the bus, I got chatting to Phil, a fellow Scot. We ended up spending the next day together.
He’s an interesting guy. He helps run a recycling scheme on a Scottish Island.
The five hour journey to Baracoa passes first through the town of Guantánamo, then along the coast. Then it turns inland and goes through some very windy mountain passes. Apparently the town was only accessible via the sea until this road was built in the 1960s!
With casas particlares, you can get into a “chain”, where you stay in one house and they can recommend other houses and phone to make the arrangements for you. This is what Sofía had done for me and I was to stay at the house of a lady called Jazmin. Someone was to wait for me at the bus station holding a placard with my name on.
When we arrived at the terminal, there was indeed a massive crowd on the other side of a wire. I could see someone with my name, so I picked up my bag and headed over to
that end.
In the confusion, a
jinetero tricked me into thinking he was the person that was waiting for me. I did have my suspicions (especially when he tried to take Jazmin’s card off me). He told me that the place I was supposed to be going to was full and took me instead to a house with a balcony and a direct view of the sea.
Anyway, I was expecting a phone call from Sofía about the possible trip to Gitmo. The perplexed expression when I asked the owner’s mother if there had been a phone call for me revealed that indeed I’d been hustled.
I eventually did find Jazmin’s house and she asked me what the hell had happened to me. As it happens, her house was full anyway and I was only going to have stayed at a friend of theirs.
It made for an awkward scene and I felt really stupid for falling for the
jinetero’s lies. But we sorted it out - the family photos I brought with me helped to break the ice! - and I stayed where I was but went to Jazmin’s for dinner.
I also handed
The crowd at the bus station
If you look carefully, there's a guy holding a card with my name. I lost him in the confusion... round the soap and pain killers, as everywhere else in my stay. Ordinary Cubans can buy soap, but unless they have CUC, it’s rationed. And even though they have a free health system, drugs are difficult to get with Ps.
I bumped into Phil in the street (Baracoa is not a big place) and we hung out.
It’s a really nice, relaxing place. It has a long sea front and some pretty colonial houses in the centre. There is beautiful countryside around and the people are really friendly. There is not nearly as much hassle from
jineteros as in Santiago.
Phil and I had a few drinks at a bar and listened to a local band.
Later, Jazmin, her husband and little kid came out to the square where we were sitting. It was so friendly and relaxing. We talked for a long time and they invited Phil and I to come for hot chocolate the following morning.
This we did, and it may sound clichéd, but it really was delicious! They have cocoa plantations here, so it’s local produce.
Then we went to look for the archaeological museum. This was a revelation as
The Malecon (Baracoa)
A lot quieter than the equivalent in Havana. This is the second longest in Cuba. I’d supposed it was to be a building. Actually, it was a cave!
Display cases have been created in holes in the rock and covered by glass panels. It was properly dark and damp and contains some of the few pre-Columbian relics to be found in Cuba. Many of the cases were too dark to see into so I was glad I brought my torch. There are two caves are they are accessed via a staircase between them.
Then we went for a walk up the hillside. We found loads of people living in shacks. It was a complete contrast to the centre of Baracoa. It showed us yet again how tourism affects only a very small proportion of Cubans - only those with contacts to get them good jobs or those lucky enough to live in pretty houses in nice areas which tourists would like to stay at.
Travelling independently and paying local people directly, you see the disruptive effect that tourist money has. We shouldn’t feel bad about it though: if we were on an all-inclusive, we’d pay even more money to even fewer people yet we’d be blissfully ignorant of our effects.
On
the bus back, I saw someone wearing a T-Shirt with, written on the back, the English language slogan: “A strong middle class is the basis for a healthy society”. That was the only other piece of rebellion I saw the whole time I was in Cuba! I guess if you’re a middle class person in the West and you want to rebel, you wear a Che Guevara T-Shirt...
I’d love to spend more time in Baracoa. It’s such a chilled-out place. I wonder if Vang Vieng (
Journey Through Laos) was once like this before it was spoiled. I hope it won’t change for the worse, but change it must.
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