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Published: January 18th 2009
We were up at 0645 and managed to see the last few moments of sunrise over Viñales from the front porch as vultures flew around us. We’d ordered breakfast for 0800 so we filled in time reading and lazing about. The egg, bread and coffee hit the spot just nicely and we headed off for the town square to catch a hop-on hop-off bus around Parque Nacional Viñales.
The portacom that was the ticketing office was still not open at 0915 and there was no sign of a bus so we made some enquiries and were told that the bus was not working. Moped rental was not an option either as we were told that none of the bikes were currently licensed. The helpful lady at the car rental place suggested we hire a taxi but we weren’t keen on that in case we had trouble with pricing (not that we had experienced that yet in Cuba). We pulled our trump card and went to signal to Mariano that there was no bus. When we got back to the casa he was busy fixing the passenger window of his 1958 Ford. He dropped everything and rode off on his bike
saying something about his amigo and CUC20. He returned 20 minutes later and managed to get through to us that his amigo was not available so the Ford was fired up and we were off. As we hit the main street I went to pull out my camera but Mariano said not to as the police could stop him for having tourists in the car.
Our first stop was Cueva del Indio, a cave under one of the rocky mountains common in Viñales valley (entry CUC5 each). We walked for a couple of hundred metres through caves more suited to people of Jo’s height than mine. The caves were so quiet you could only hear the drops of water from the stalactites and there was a nice cool breezeless air about the place that was rudely interrupted by Jo’s piercing squeal when she felt something brush her leg. The squeal scared me far more than the friendly dog scared Jo. Not long after, we boarded a boat on a river that flowed through the cave - Jo’s new friend wailing as we pulled away. Rabies the dog must’ve known his way around a he was waiting at the dock
to meet us at the end of the boat trip.
We found Mariano close to his Ford and set off for stop number two - Palneque de los Cimaronnes - another cave that cut back on itself after a few hundred metres then ended at a reconstruction of an early cave house as used by Valle de Viñales inhabitants of years past. Jo’s latest friend was of the feline variety and received plenty of attention (even jumping up into her lap for a cuddle) while I took photos.
Stop three was a mirador (lookout) about 4km from the city looking out over the valley and town of Viñales. Crop devastation from Hurricane Ike was fairly evident and the hotels that the lookout was located next to were closed for rebuilding but the view was superb and vultures continued to fly over-head.
Our final stop was back down the hill at Mural de la Prehistoria, a huge painting on the cliff face that, despite it’s intriguing name, was painted between 1961 and 1965.
Mariano dropped us at the edge of town and we walked to Patio del Decimista where we spent a few hours having sandwiches, mojitos
and beer whilst I updated the diary. We managed to seconder the only internet capable computer in town and spent an hour updating the blog and checking emails before once again attempting to fit into the Cuban culture by sitting on the porch drinking rum for several hours. Mariano even fixed up a mojito for Jo by flogging some of the neighbours mint from their garden. Mariano’s hospitality is unmatched in all our travels anywhere in the world - he simply couldn’t do enough for us.
Miriam fixed us another huge dinner of fish at 1800 after which I suggested we went to find a bar. Jo was already pretty tired and went for a nana-nap while I continued to keep Cuban tradition going by myself on the porch. At 1930 I checked in on Jo and she wasn’t keen to even get out of bed let alone go out and as we hadn’t heard from Rebecka and Carolina I figured it was going to be a quiet night until Mariano emerged in his best going-out shirt. I signalled that Jo was asleep and - like a child that had just been told that his birthday party was cancelled
- said “No musica? No bar?” I woke Jo again to a much better reception this time and went to the casa next door to get Rebecka and Carolina who had also managed to drag a Spanish bloke (Juan) into our plans. Between the six of us we polished of another new bottle of rum whilst telling stories (now we had a translator communication was no longer limited to charades).
Polo Montañez was the bar of choice. Located in the main square, it had an open air dance floor and a large stage on which, we were assured, there would be a band. Mariano sat down and pulled a bottle of rum out - apparently BYO is OK in Cuba! Jo ordered a round of mojitos that were rather heavy on the rum and we talked for an hour before the band finally decided to make an appearance. I had a good chat with Juan who was similarly interested with the Cuban way of life and it was good to hear what he had learned in his time on the island. Juan found that Cubans are very poor but they manage to forget that more often than not and
enjoy the more simple things in life - like music. The band was a six piece and played salsa all night. The locals got up and danced so well the few tourists in the place were scared to move. One of the guys took Jo for a dance and eventually the girls couldn’t decline the locals advances any longer. As a kiwi male I sat staunchly at the table - not dancing. Four days of drinking rum had gone to Mariano’s stomach and the cool night (23oC ) had forced him to don his raincoat that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Cardrona in winter. He walked home just after 2300. By midnight the room was spinning a little too much for my liking so Juan and I headed off also - leaving the girls to their own devices. I was woken from my coma at 0130 by a book hitting me in the head - the girls had been knocking on the window trying to wake me without success and Carolina had reached through and grabbed the book. I went outside to let them in and three of the guys from the pub were in tow. Mariano had
woken also and was at the front door. I went back to bed and was out like a light immediately. About 15 minutes later I was woken by Jo saying “please leave us alone.” I got out of bed again, got to the porch and told the guys to fuck off. Apparently their English was sufficient to understand the message and they left.
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