Todavía muy caliente!

---

---

After a 12 hour overnight bus across almost a third of the country we pulled into Trinidad, blurry eyed at around 6am. After the hassle, pace and heat of Santiago, the sleepy cobbled streets of Cuba’s ‘outdoor museum’ were a welcome relief. Trinidad was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1988 and rightly so. A perfectly preserved Spanish colonial settlement where time seems to have stood still since it was first built in the early nineteenth century using the fortunes from sugar production in the nearby village of Valle De Los Ingenios. We expected this to be our first dip into tourist-ville territory, however, we were pleasantly surprised to find it was a peaceful, hassle-free stop-off where the only annoyance seemed to be a guy wandering past our casa every morning at 5am shouting EL PAN, EL PAN! Well, that and the relentless taxi drivers desperately trying to get us into taxis to Havana every time we passed the main crossroad.

We made our new casa arrangements through our hosts in Baracoa and we were expecting to be met at the bus station by a lady called Maralena with whom we were supposed to be staying. Imagine our confusion when we were met by a guy called Yobany who took us back to his apartment, introduced us to his wife, Neva, and no mention was made of anyone called Maralena. At first we felt a little confused and cheated but it worked out pretty well as Yobany and Neva’s place was right on the outskirts of the old town, had a great rooftop terrace overlooking the town, mountains and distant ocean, and we were the only guests. Trinidad ticks a lot of boxes. Loads of great photography opportunities around each and every corner, live bands playing in almost every restaurant and bar, musicians on street corners filling the air with their melodies and virtually no traffic other than the occasional horse drawn cart. As if this town isn’t great enough already, 12km down the road there is Playa Ancon, one of Cuba’s finest beaches (with the right colour sand).

Not the sort to miss out on a good party, we decided to check out the Fiesta de Santa Elenor in the nearby village of Casilla. We overheard a couple on a street corner chatting about heading to the fiesta and the four of us agreed to share a taxi. The nearest taxi we could see was a convertible 1920s Ford (I know nothing about cars so that’s the best description you’re gonna get) which we assumed would cost more than the 1950s cars rolling around. It turned out this wasn’t the case so we rolled up to the fiesta in this tiny little village in style, albeit with my knees wrapped around my ears and a sore arse. It was quite an unusual street party to stumble across and we seemed to be the only tourists in attendance. There were hundreds of people lining the streets, a stage that seemed to have no band play on it at any point of the night, trucks with vats full of ice cold beer where they would fill up an empty one litre water bottle for seven pesos (about 8p), cowboys and girls racing their horses around the block and guys selling ridiculously cheap rum from the back of vans with the only obtainable mixer being a sickly but effective pineapple syrup a lady sold from an adjacent house. The highlight of the evening was most definitely the guinea pig roulette. Pick a number, place a bet, spin a guinea pig in a box then see which number it stumbles too once it remembers how to walk.

Not the sort to let the most evil, foul of hangovers stop us from going about our day, we went ahead with the planned horseback trek to the Javira waterfall the following morning. Our horses thankfully looked in better condition than the majority of horses we had seen so far on this trip. I couldn’t help but notice my horse would have probably been better paired with a pre-teen child but the horse didn’t seem to mind and I was happy that the distance I had to fall was much less than previously anticipated. Trying to ride a tiny horse while taking photos, rehydrating to fight said hangover and attempting to not look like a total din turned out to be quite a challenge. I ended up with hardly any photos and more water over my chin and shirt than in my mouth. Of course, I also looked like a total din. The highlight of the trip was hard to call on this occasion. Whether it was the mob of vultures eating a dead horse, me unwillingly cantering a few times (much to Kate’s amusement) and considering jumping of the bastard thing, witnessing a guy slaughter a goat at a restaurant just as we were asked if we’d be returning for lunch, or the fact the waterfall we trekked to was simply a pool with no water falling whatsoever, a fun day meandering through the hills and sugar cane plantations was had by all… other than the goat.

From Trinidad we took our bruised buttocks to breezy Playa Larga via a boring day and night in Cienfuegos, a town that deserves no more mention than just that. Playa Larga sits at the top of the Bays of Pigs in Cuba’s Mantanzas Province. Playa Larga and nearby Playa Giron were the landing sites for failed attempt to overthrow Fidel Castro’s new government in 1961, funded by the CIA. We stayed in a tiny little village next to Playa Larga called Caleton. This village simply comprised of one street, one bus stop, one small market, one shack selling alcohol and shampoo and a delightful little beach lined with huts, palm trees and stray dogs. We struck gold with our casa here (thank you Trip Advisor), a lovely little bungalow with a view of the ocean, a porch literally on the beach and a great host called Anna. Paradise was nearly broken when we realised the beautiful azul ocean we had been drooling over as we drove around the bay had somehow turned a rusty brown by the time we got to our final destination. Plans to make day trips to the nearest beach with the right colour ocean were immediately formed but Anna was quick to inform us that the rusty hue was due to a storm washing river water into the sea and should pass within a few days, which it thankfully did. Happiness resumed.

As the Americans went home with their tails between their legs and left the Cuban exiles they had trained and delivered back to their homeland to face the consequences, they kindly let behind a number of sunken vessels in the bay which are now dive sites. We decided to have a day of diving with the town’s only dive operation. When you go diving you are normally asked to sign a disclaimer, show proof of your certification, confirm how many dives you have made and try on some equipment to ensure you end up with well-fitted gear. The process was slightly less thorough on this occasion as we were simply asked ‘how many dives do you want to do?’ and, after being looked at from head to toe as they visually assessed us for sizing, a pile of equipment was dumped on the floor and we were ushered into an American yellow school bus and off we went. We noted the road around the bay is full of life as we casually ploughed through hundreds of crabs crossing the road at the wrong time and swarms of dragonflies making a mess of the window screen. The diving wasn’t exactly world class, primarily due to overfishing over the years, but the reef and coral formations were decent and the visibility was the best we’ve ever seen.

The rest of our time in Playa Larga was spent in the sea, playing cards and dice, drinking rum and feeding stray dogs. Oh, and as with everywhere else in Cuba, we ate copious amounts of food. Anna’s cooking was superb and, like all previous hosts, she felt the need to fill the table with as many plates of food as it could hold. As a result we were in a food-induced coma by 9pm most nights. How Cubans are not all morbidly obese remains a mystery. We also made friends with a 15-strong family staying in the two room hut next door to our casa. They were a fun bunch, having us drinking rum in the sea at 11am, and a constant source of entertainment, blasting out reggaethon at all hours while shamelessly daggering one another regardless of relation, age, mobility or the number of strangers witnessing.

As you continue to travel west across Cuba, it becomes apparent just how varied this island is from one end to the other. The landscape, the coastline, the fauna and flora and the people to an extent, although they all seem to have one thing in common; they all love to have fun and wear a big smile on their face. We look forward to seeing what Havana and Vinales have to offer as we head across the western third of the country. The journey continues.…

---