Advertisement
Published: September 16th 2007
The old man chewed his tobacco in a slimy clump and then spat it in a drooling mess to the ground. The pig laying next to him didn't move but the cat was quick to give it a lick.
He was aged somewhere upwards of 100 years old. They think 120 but noone knows for sure. Found as an 11 year old boy in the bush in the Vinales mountains, his rescuers were long since dead but he lived on.
His feet were tough as leather as he had never worn shoes and he looked pretty good for someone who had never been to a doctor. In fact nobody around these parts had ever been to a doctor. The local people believed in the healing powers of the mineral rich waters that flowed through the mountains. It was used religiously as a cure all for everything.
The children didn't go to school. Instead they learn only from their parents about agriculture, animal husbandry and the facts of life. Officially, the people from this region don´t exist. Noone has an identification card so technically they can´t actually leave the area.
Water is considered the giver and healer of
life. The women give birth in pools of water and broken limbs are healed by wrapping soaked palm leaves around the bone. No herbs or tinctures are used. Only water.
Houses have no electricity, but are rich in rum and cigars. The owner of one small cottage where we sheltered from the rain, told us how he still preferred to sleep on straw matting on the floor of his house. Much better for the back than a bed by his reckoning.
The furniture was handmade from local wood and fashioned to be comfortable and practical. No glass existed in the windows (or mosquito netting) and the rain was kept at bay by wooden awnings. Each house had a small porch, usually adorned with a couple of rocking chairs and some kind of animal.
Chickens, goats and pigs roamed freely and crops of maize, sweet potato, yucca, rice and coffee grew with gusto across the gentle sloping fields. We were offered fruit, sweet sugar cane and water for sustenance.
In another part of the province, a wizened Campesino rolled down the black tarpaulin in a conspiratorial fashion and unrolled his enormous bag of dried tobacco. Carefully he
laid and flattened leaves on top of one another. Then. with an expert technique refined since he was a boy, deftly rolled a symmetrical cigar. With a small flick of the knife he prepared the ends and presented it to us with a flourish. As the rich aroma invaded our nostrils he smiled and warned that it was strong likely to mess with our heads.
He told how his family had lived in this property for over a hundred years. As a boy, he had grown up watching his mother and father run the tobacco farm. In the off season, when the tobacco plants were harvested maize was planted. Ninety percent of the farm's produce was sold for export and the remaining 10% was kept to support the family. The incredible array of fruit trees and vegetables surrounding the house supplied his entire family with food year round.
Totally self sufficient, chickens, pigs and goats provided eggs, meat and cheese. Horses and cattle are kept for work only. No beef is eaten in this province.
The area is often called the valley of silence. No machinery is used to plant or harvest crops and everything is done
by hand or using 'natures tractors'. The enormous bullocks that can be seen loitering in the grass. No gasoline required!
All the produce is organic with rotting vegetables and animal faeces being used as fertiliser. Whilst to us it appears as hard, labour intensive work, the locals are fiercely proud of their environmentally and ecologically friendly practices. And you can't dispute how good the food tastes!
Advertisement
Tot: 0.048s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 10; qc: 27; dbt: 0.028s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1mb
