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Published: June 29th 2016
HATE. If I started off loving this country, it was beginning to test my patience now – literally, as our 12-hour, mosquito-infested bus to Santiago de Cuba stopped in Sancti Spiritus for an hour and a quarter, going back and forth between the city’s two bus terminals. Do you think they’d let the passengers know what was happening and apologise for the delay? Of course not, this is Cuba. And with only one bus ‘company’ you could take, who else were you going to go with?
The lack of choice and options was beginning to frustrate me. Take shops selling snacks for example. In Cuba, these shops don’t seem to exist. Even in the cities you have to do some proper scouting to find them when even when you do, they probably don’t even have what you’re after. Much as the proliferation of convenience stores such as 7-Eleven create ugly, corporate stains on the cityscape, I now appreciate just how much I use them. How I need them.
Snacks like chips and chocolate bars seem to be unheard of here in Cuba. In fact, I don’t think I’ve even seen a single chocolate bar since I have been in the
Eliades Ochoa
He of Buena Vista Social Club fame. He just happened to be performing when walked past Casa de la Trova in Santiago de Cuba.country.
With just one bus company for all tourists, it means that every kind of tourist gets lumped in together. Young backpackers. Retired couples. Families. Honeymooners.
And then there are the buses full of package tourists – the Trafalgar coaches of Cuba, full of old Germans and French.
I would say that the majority of tourists here are older, meaning they can afford the tourists prices charged – these are the people that the locals are targeting but the young backpackers struggling to stop the financial bleeding here get lumped into the same category, just like we’d been lumped into this bus.
Ching had decided to follow me to Santiago and I was half-glad she did – it ensured I wouldn’t be paying shitloads for accommodation for at least a little while longer. She needed me too though, in this money-sucking country – we both needed each other in this pseudo marriage of convenience.
Trinidad had been a turning point.
Up until then, I had loved Cuba. Then when I got there, it was all tourists, pushy hustlers and rip-offs. I wasn’t enjoying Cuba now – I was now desperate for the east of the country to
Dodgy Bridge, Baracoa
Up there with the worse I have ever seen. I was a bit worried crossing it with all my valuables on me. give me more of
what I experienced in the west.
Unsurprisingly, we were way late arriving in Santiago. The smug local guy in front of me was really starting to annoy me after twelve hours of talking loudly, reclining his seat right into my lap and putting his hands behind the headrest so his grubby little fingers were right in my face. That smug look…let’s say that he had a very punchable face.
I’ve done some long bus rides throughout Latin America but all my frustrations were coming to the boil on this one. All I could think about was getting on my plane out of Havana bound for Spain. Where you can buy a chocolate bar.
Although I was looking forward to getting to Europe, all I really wanted was a break from travelling – to do nothing but watch movies and YouTube for week. It will be eight months on the road by the time I get to Spain – I’ll see if I can get some nothing days in here in Cuba before I leave – I certainly have at least a couple of days up my sleeve.
I hate Cuba.
LOVE. Do you remember that Lonely Planet quote from
Catedral de Nuestra Senora de la Asuncion, Santiago de Cuba
Santiago de Cuba's most important church in its main square of Parque Cespedes. my Havana blog entry about Cuba frustrating and inspiring in equal measure? Well, would you believe it, things were a breeze once we arrived in Santiago.
Firstly, the casa owners of the place we were staying at came to pick us up from the bus station and the price was the same as we had paid in Trinidad – CUC$15/night between us.
Then we went to get food and found a place that was really cheap, had decent food and had excellent service. It was awesome to find a restaurant in our price range again.
Lastly, the atmosphere in the streets that evening was charming; a salsa bar in full swing; locals sitting outside their houses who were super-friendly; even the famous hustlers of Santiago were friendly and weren’t pushy.
After just a couple of hours, I was liking Santiago already and from hating Cuba on the bus ride, I was suddenly in love with it again. It was like the proverbial on-again, off-again relationship; brilliant highs, passionate sex, loads of fun; mixed with massive fights, depressing lows and the shedding of tears. OK, maybe not quite to that extent, but you get my point.
Will Cuba and I end up living happily
Bright Row Of Houses
In Santiago de Cuba. ever after?
Wow, it’s hot and humid here though. It is famously so here in the part of the country known as the Oriente – named as such because Columbus thought it was the Orient he had found when he landed.
Doing another Lonely Planet sponsored walking tour, I was dripping after a mere fifteen minutes walking outside.
Our first stop was the Museo de la Lucha Clandestina, where we learnt about the quotes, plans, people and events of the underground fight against Cuban dictator Fulhencio Batista. Sadly for Ching, everything was in Spanish but at least I learnt a little more about what took place in the 1950s, just before the revolution. The museum was free that day too! Fidel Castro’s house where he lived while a student here in Santiago was also located right opposite the museum.
Walking down the atmospheric steps on Padre Pico, we then enjoyed the views from the impressive viewpoint that was Balcon de Velasquez though I was a bit pissed off about having to pay CUC$1 to take photos of the vista overlooking the city and the harbour.
We then made it to the main square, Parque Cespedes (there is a Parque
Casa de la Trova
Santiago de Cuba's famous live music venue of jazz/salsa/son/trova. Cespedes in every town and city) where the cathedral, the Casa de Diego Velasquez (Cuba’s oldest building) and the grand Hotel Casa Granda reside.
Passing by the famous Casa de la Trova, we then find out that Eliades Ochoa – member of the world-famous Buena Vista Social Club – was playing in Santiago’s premier music house in just half-an-hour. And best of all, it was only CUC$2 to get in!
As usual, things didn’t exactly start on time and the room was getting unbearably hot – but hey, they’re musicians and this is Cuba – but once they got going, we were watching some world-class jazz/salsa/son/trova (I couldn’t tell you what is what). Like my cruise down the
malecon in Havana, this was about as Cuban an experience as you could get – Oriente style.
There are some songs and some music that just get you going, which get you so excited that you just have to leap to your feet to dance, rock or sing along to it. Well, there were some members of the audience who were just loving it and before long, people started popping up from their seats all over the show and started dancing.
Libreria de Escalera
The very interesting and very kitsch bookstore in Santiago de Cuba. Even an old lady pushing 90 was going at it. It was so cool to see such joy erupting so spontaneously. Remember that this was unplanned and that we just happened upon all of this and went with it – and we were rewarded with one of the most authentic and fun experiences of the trip.
Down from the Casa de la Trova was the very interesting and kitsch bookstore of Libreria la Escalera which as well as books, had all sorts of Cuban nostalgic paraphernalia and an odd, eclectic collection of business cards. Around the corner from here is the Museo Municipal Emilio Bacardi Moreau.
Established by who is essentially the inventor of rum, Emilio Bacardi donated a collection of his stuff to the city and it is all housed in this architecturally Grecian museum. It charts Cuba’s and Santiago’s history from pre-Columbian times to post-revolution times through his amazing collection of objects ranging from Spanish paintings, indigenous pre-Columbian pots, weapons from the wars of independence from Spain, uniforms from battles fought during the revolution and even an Egyptian mummy!
After a very sweet, very cheap coffee at a local café, we then had a walk down
Calle Jose Antonio Saco
Santiago de Cuba's main pedestrian thoroughfare. the pedestrian Calle Jose A Saco which was a fascinating glimpse into local life. For a start there were loads of cheap cafeterias selling all manner of cheap snacks (turns out snacks do exist in Cuba, just not as we know them and you have to come to this street to get them) from
empanaditas and hot dogs, to pizza and MN$1 ice-creams. It is a lively, colourful, colonial street, with more than a hint of kitsch, with its 50s/60s American-diner-style neon signs. Add to this old men playing checkers in the park and a crowd of locals watching an intense game of dominoes, and all you needed was a 50s Pontiac and a salsa band complete with a double bass and you would have had Cuba in one scene.
We then bumped into Emma, an Australian girl who was in our casa in Trinidad. Had I not decided to chat to her in passing while in Trinidad, she would not have recognised me. With her was Patrick, a German she had literally just met on the street.
After a short conversation, we had suddenly all agreed to share a taxi together to Baracoa the next day. Wow, that
Checkers
Old men play checkers in a square in Santiago de Cuba. escalated quickly.
We then had to find a taxi willing to take us though, and suddenly when you actually need a taxi, there aren’t any hustlers around hassling you for one. But we soon got one for the same price as the bus but with door-to-door pick-up and drop-off. Funny how things work out – the whole thing was so random too. But that is the great thing about backpacking!
Speaking of hustlers, I can confirm that Santiago’s ones are indeed pretty zealous and quite annoying, but I’ve had worse. The locals all like to have a chat with you as well so it is hard sometimes to distinguish who is after your money and who is not.
The city is a little frenetic but no more than Havana – it is certainly not the stressful place it’s made out to be and I actually quite like it. It feels more real, it is a cheaper place and it doesn’t have that element of contrition and the bus loads of tourists that Trinidad has.
So what do you do when you have an early pickup the next morning? You go on the piss with Ronaldo and Barack Obama
Barack Obama & Brazilian Ronaldo
Spotted in Santiago de Cuba, playing in a band. Looks like Obama is serious about shutting down Guantanamo and that Ronaldo has found his vocation post-football. of course! Confused? So am I, a little.
Firstly, Ching, Emma and I met up again with Patrick who had brought his
companero Aussie Sean with him. We went back to Pizzeria Fuji – where Ching and I had dinner the previous night – where I just had to take advantage of the CUC$4 lobster. Which was actually pretty nice!
We then decided to check out another local salsa band at a bar next to Casa de la Trova – where the guitarist was a ring-in for Brazilian/Fat Ronaldo and the singer was a ring-in for Barack Obama. I guess Ronaldo has found a new vocation post-football and that President Obama is really serious about shutting down Guantanamo. For those of you who don’t believe me, check out my photos.
We all then went for a drink afterwards where I introduced everyone to
the dice game – except that without dice, we had to use cards as a substitute. Have to say that you really need everyone on board for it to be really fun. Nevertheless, it was a pretty awesome night out.
I f*cking love Cuba! HATE. So it seems that you have one amazing day in Cuba and then
The Jeep
The four of us and out luggage plus the driver and two other passengers were rammed into this little thing. For four hours. On bumpy, winding roads. an absolute shitter of one that would test the patience of a saint, the next.
It starts off with the fact that I’m super-tired from the night before and that we have to catch an early-morning taxi. And then it turns out that the taxi was way more trouble than it was worth.
First we had an angry driver who wasn’t happy about the price we negotiated with his mate and who got stroppy when we asked if we could sit in the vacant seats in the front of his beat-up, old, orange jeep, what with us and our bags all crammed into the back cabin.
”Necesito recoger mas personas porque ustedes solo me pagan quince pesos cada persona! Nos estamos pobre y no nos pagan el justo precio! Me entienden?!” Basically, he told us to f*k right off.
The road was bumpy and the suspension and shock absorbers were what you would expect of a beat-up, old, orange jeep and without seat belts we were sent flying on some corners and smashed our heads on the roof on more than one occasion. There were only small windows so the cabin was pretty hot too. It felt like the ride
Beautiful Beach
On the way from Guantanamo to Baracoa, we had to follow this gorgeous coastal road. This is one of the beaches that we asked our driver to stop at. from hell and for Emma and Ching, it really must’ve felt like it given neither of them got any sleep the previous night and were trying their best to catch up a little.
This was not what any of us wanted to deal with, tired and hungover.
We then arrive in Baracoa and a lady has three of our names on a sign on the side of the road. Our casa owner in Santiago had organised a casa for the four of us here and he somehow got hold of Emma’s name without us telling him. In hindsight, he must’ve collaborated with Emma’s casa owner, since they were around the corner from each other.
But it was freaky at the time and I couldn’t even ask questions or speak properly in English that day so Spanish was an impossibility.
And then we discover that our room has two double beds – not ideal given that we’re not couples and only really met each other the previous day!
The casa owner, desperate to keep our business, then suggests that two of us stay here but with the other two in a casa down the road. We prefer to stay in
Calle Jose Marti
Main street in Baracoa, Cuba's oldest town. the same casa however so we then get the now-really-annoyed driver to take us to another casa recommended by Patrick’s casa owner.
He only has one room with a double bed available for the night but will have both his rooms available the next day. He suggests two of us stay across the street for one night before moving back into his place the next.
So we were in a situation not dissimilar to the one we had just escaped but by now we were all tired, hot, hungover, hungry and just plain fed up – so we agreed to it. For a very reasonable client-suggested price of CUC$15 a room, a night. Done.
It seems that the humidity in Baracoa is even a notch further up than it was in Santiago.
Supposedly regionally isolated and with a strong regional identity and the best culinary tradition in Cuba as a result, I had high expectations – I had only heard good things about the place.
Well, on first impressions, I was pretty underwhelmed. The town itself is unremarkable and in places, it was just downright derelict. The
malecon resembled a ghost town with no traffic and the beach was
Baracoa Beach - The Ugly Part
"The shittiest beach I have ever seen", according to Patrick. grey and dirty, although the water was clear and refreshingly cool – a nice change from Playa Ancon.
The beach reminded me of
Huanchaco’s – trashy. Literally.
“This is the shittiest beach I have ever seen” remarks Patrick.
Thankfully further along, past the dilapidated baseball stadium, things got a bit cleaner and less crowded. It was probably the most relaxing part of the day.
But before that, I needed to buy a drink and some water and popped into a local ‘convenience’ store. A convenience store that only had rum, beer, water and cartons of juice. What kind of convenience store doesn’t have a fridge full of soft drinks? A Cuban one.
At the counter, the card machine isn’t working properly and is holding everyone up. Not that the guy working there could process other cash transactions while waiting for the machine to work, no. I mean, why bother? His colleague is just standing around doing nothing – he seemed to be the more senior staff member too but why would he bother trying to help shorten the queue when he could just stand around doing f*ck all?
After ten minutes of this, the card machine finally works and
Baseball Stadium, Baracoa
Literally on the beach, Baracoa's baseball stadium really looks like it should no longer be holding matches such is its state of dilapidation. the transaction is finally completed.
Then the next guy in the queue doesn’t seem to understand that he is four pesos short and the cashier keeps telling him this for some five minutes. Another dude then barges his way into the queue to give Non-Numerate Man money to pay for a bottle of rum while it is still Non-Numerate Man’s turn.
Non-Numerate Man then finally finds enough coins to make up his four pesos and I get to finally buy my juice carton and water some twenty minutes after I walked into the store.
I almost lost it right there and then. When you’re tired, hot, hungover, sweaty and thirsty, you just don’t wanna have to deal with this shit.
And of course, the juice carton doesn’t open like a Tetra-Pak so I need a knife to open it. A knife I don’t have on me, of course. So after all that…you just had to laugh.
Other shit you don’t want to deal with when tired, hot, sweaty and hungover is having to fend off yet more hustlers in a town with more tourists than I was expecting. There are some weirdos here too. One dude kept coming up
Street Art, Baracoa
On Baracoa's derelict malecon, which is like so after being almost wiped out by a hurricane. to the girls and doing perverted, disgusting, lewd gestures at them and this set off Ching’s rather short fuse and she kicked out at him, running after him before we held her back.
After everything that had happened that day, I was just sick and tired of telling people where I was from, why I look Asian even though I am from New Zealand, hearing people yell out “Japon?” “Corea?” and “Hey chino!” at me, and having to keep saying “no, gracias”.
There just seemed to be an air of desperation across the whole town. Women on the beach were even just straight up asking for money from us, abandoning any sort of sales pitch altogether, as if we were walking wallets with CUC$ growing out of our arses.
Am not liking Baracoa so far – much like Trinidad, it is far too touristy and has fallen below expectations.
Famous for its cuisine, I can’t seem to find the Lonely Planet recommended restaurant I am looking for. Directions given by locals are useless and others try to talk me into eating at their restaurants. Getting a straight, objective, unbiased answer out of anyone here was like getting blood out
Dawn Breakfast
Atop my casa in Baracoa. of a stone. And when we finally find a replacement restaurant, I ask for the local specialities to which the answer of course is “no hay”.
There is one local speciality available however;
pescado en leche de coco, cooked in a local sauce called
lechita which is like a non-spicy coconut curry – and it is delicious although the fish is disappointingly chewy and overcooked.
Asking to try a local hot chocolate on the way home, a guy working at the Casa del Cacao – recommended by Lonely Planet as a “sight” but is disappointingly really just a café – looks at me and starts laughing as if cafes don’t open late anywhere in the world.
“No hay”, he says.
Cannot. Deal. Any. More.
We got up late the next day and with Emma and Patrick on an all-day trip to Parque Nacional Alejandro de Humboldt, it was midday by the time Ching and I started our day, where I was determined to find some local
bacan or
frangollo for lunch. No dice. Apparently you can only get them in the countryside and you can only get them in town when the
campesinos come in the morning to sell
Museo Arqueologico 'La Cueva del Paraiso'
Baracoa has this awesome archaeological museum inside an old Taino funerary cave where they have left a couple of the graves as well as other historic artefacts on display. them. Same thing with
chorote; hot Baracoan chocolate served with banana powder. Sounds delicious right?
Being the apparent culinary capital of Cuba, why would they make their regional specialities so hard to find? You’d think that every man and his dog would be breaking their leg to try and sell them. It just doesn’t make any business sense. Of course it doesn’t. This is Cuba. Most of the country doesn’t make a lot of sense.
I was feeling let down by Baracoa.
I hate Cuba. LOVE. We then went to the archaeology museum which is actually inside a Taino funerary cave. The Tainos came to Cuba from Venezuela in 700AD and some of their practices were very similar to other pre-Columbian civilisations in the Americas, including the Incas and the Mayans.
They used to bury their dead in caves, which were considered passages to the afterlife, and a couple of buried skeletons in the foetal position were left exactly as they were found here in the museum. Otherwise the place is full of artefacts such as idols, pots and flints. Just as impressive as its setting was the museum’s
mirador, with views across the bay.
Ching wasn’t feeling
Baracoa Beach - The Nice Part
If you follow the beach away from the town, it gets better and better until it becomes beautiful. too good so she decided to skip the afternoon’s activities.
Before going to the Parque Natural Mayajara, I stopped at the old fort of the Fuerte Matachin, which now houses the municipal museum. Like much of Baracoa’s listings, Lonely Planet has rather oversold this place too, which chronicles the area’s history as well as displaying famous people and stories from the area including a woman who disguised herself as a man to practice medicine before marrying an heiress; Magdalena Rovieskaya aka “La Rusa”, whose story is featured in a famous book called La Consagracion de la Primavera; and how Che Guevara opened the chocolate factory here.
I then walk along the town beach that seems to get better the further away you get from town. At the end of the beach is the Rio Miel, the river up which Columbus sailed when he first landed in 1492. These days there is a very dodgy bridge that crosses it, loose/broken planks and all. I was a little nervous as I crossed it to be honest, what with my camera, iPhone and all.
On the other side, I pass the unoccupied ticket office into the national park, stopping briefly at the picturesque
Path To Balcon Arqueologico & Cueva del Agua
Outside of Baracoa. I really like the contrast between the red earth and the green foliage. but small Playa Blanca along the way.
There are signs pointing me to my final destination – Cueva del Agua and the Balcon Arqueologico.
On the way, I pass a homestead that Lonely Planet says is the home of the Fuentes – and that for a small donation, I could have Senor Fuentes take me to the cave and the “balcony”. The family seems famous – I had a guy pretending he was part of the Fuentes clan offer to lead me to the cave and the balcony while leading me the wrong way, and there are signs on many a homestead in the area professing to be the Familia Fuentes.
Anyway, I reckon I can get to both sights by myself but am stopped by the Fuentes – the real ones – shouting out to me. They tell me I can’t get there myself because there are many unsigned paths to choose from and that I might accidentally end up in the nearby military zone. I don’t know if it is some sort of ruse but Senor Fuentes then asks me for how much I would hire him for as my guide. Since I didn’t pay the CUC$2 park
Balcon Arqueologico
Just outside of Baracoa, it this impressive set of caves etched halfway up a cliff. Senor Fuentes (pictured) was by guide. entrance fee, I offer him the same price. It was a done deal.
And I’m glad I took him along as I would’ve had no idea which paths to take – and we also had to go through some private property to get there.
The
balcon was cool. A series of caves naturally etched into the side of a cliff, we had to climb up to get to them but they were impressive – as was the view to the water from them. Apparently the
balcon was used in a famous Cuban film.
In his heavily accented Spanish (Senor was very difficult to understand, heavily slurring his pronunciation and using all these words I’ve never heard before), Senor Fuentes then beckons me to follow him to the caves.
Arriving there, we cautiously descend into its darkness where there is a clear pool of water in which we could cool off. Senor tells me that the underground network of water leads all the way to the sea and that a girl drowned in here once.
After the cave, we then climb up to another
mirador with more stunning views before making our way back through some private farms.
Senor seems
Cueva del Agua
Senor Fuentes and I take a dip in a clear, cool cave pool just outside Baracoa. It is fairly deep down in the cave, so it was a little bit of a mission to get down to. to know everyone in the community – in fact, all Cubans seem to know each other everywhere it seems.
Senor invites me back to his house for coffee and some fruit but I had to get going to be back in time for dinner at my casa.
While not very enthused by Baracoa itself and its relatively unfriendly inhabitants, the surrounding area is beautiful – and the day was an amazing one.
I thought I’d let fate decide my plans for my last day in Baracoa and it got off to a good start – my casa owner managed to procure us some
bacan for breakfast! I liked it but it wasn’t Ching’s cup of tea – more for me then! A
bacan is basically a
tamale, which is basically a pudding wrapped up in a banana leaf made of crab meat and raw plantains.
I also managed to get some hot chocolate Baracoa-style, with local chocolate and banana powder mixed in. It was more or less the
chorote I had been after the previous day so I could tick that off my list too. It was delicious and I drank the whole flask of it.
I love Cuba! Bacan
A Baracoan speciality. A savoury pudding made from crab meat and raw plantains. HATE. I then wanted to cycle the scenic 20km on a shitty road out to Playa Maguana, supposedly one of the best, undeveloped beaches in the country. Well, that plan was scuppered when naturally, the bike hire shop was closed because it was Saturday. Of course. Which I kind of didn’t mind, given the heat, the distance to the beach and the state of the road. It did make things a bit difficult however as I was also counting on the bike to drop by the bus station to reserve tickets and to make it to La Fabrica Cucuruchu to try another Baracoan culinary speciality;
cucurucho.
Made interestingly of dried coconut, guava, sugar, honey, mandarin and nuts, it is apparently the signature dessert of the region despite not appearing in any restaurant menu here for
postres.
The factory was a few kilometres out of town but cucurucho is also known to be sold by the
campesinos on the highway.
Well, of course the bus station was closed until the next day and the factory was also closed. Tired of walking around fruitlessly, I hired a bicycle taxi to try and find me some goddamn cucurucho. My driver really tried
Passenger Truck, Baracoa
Cubans are nothing if not ingenious. Often you will see old lorries with their cargo containers replaced with er, passenger containers, like this. his best, asking half the town who might be selling it on this day, at this time, but no dice. So the most interesting culinary speciality you could try in Baracoa – and by default, Cuba – will have to go untried. Gutted. Ridiculous.
I hate Cuba.
LOVE. The only thing that did go right that day was getting to watch Manchester United win the FA Cup Final. It was the first full game of football I have watched for months.
I love Cuba (sort of).
HATE. The old cars and trucks are cool to see in Cuba but they aren’t the most environmentally-friendly. Not that Cubans themselves are much better – trash is often just thrown on the ground and leftover water/drinks simply just chucked out onto the street, to the point where you need to be careful when walking past people’s houses in case you get a stray cup of backwashed water in your face.
Considering the beautiful surrounds, it’s sad to see such disregard for the environment.
I hate Cuba.
LOVE. There is always something cute about Asians not brought up in a Western country, suddenly hanging out with people from Western countries. They
Baracoa By Night
Taken along Calle Jose Marti. don’t have the same feel for what kind of things should be said when, and it’s cute. Ching would also get excited by the most simplest of things. It was just cute. Especially in her passable English pronunciation and Taiwanese accent.
Even her habits were cute; like having only two dresses, two long-sleeved shirts and a pair of trousers for clothing, to travel in a hot country and having to wash them in the bathroom regularly to save money and keep them fresh and clean (well, as much as you can do without putting them through a machine and washing them properly); bringing a tent, coffee maker and camp stove to a place that has almost zero campgrounds; and being just as stingy as me when it comes to spending money but on occasion taking it to another level. It’s been nice having her around – she sure has provided a lot of laughs!
I love Cuba.
HATE. When you watch the bus station clerk print out your bus ticket on dot matrix paper and then separate the ticket from the paper manually using a ruler – then you get an idea why things are done so slowly here
Dominoes
Locals play a very intense game f dominoes in Santiago de Cuba. and why there are so many queues.
Though generally friendly, I wouldn’t say that Cubans are polite. I got stared at a lot here and I didn’t feel completely comfortable here, like I did in other parts of Cuba. The whole segregation and ‘us and them’ situation that exists between locals and tourists in Cuba seems more pronounced here. The people here definitely seem poorer, which I think exacerbates the situation.
It is said that Baracoa is different to the rest of Cuba but I didn’t feel it. The different feel and culture that is supposed to reside here isn’t apparent, neither in the streets or the menus. It seems you really have to dig deep and make big efforts to seek it, in order to find it.
I’m pretty sure it’s there though, lurking beneath the surface – it’s just a shame that it’s so hard to find.
I hate Cuba.
LOVE. Well. There is actually a happy end to this story. Surprisingly and unsurprisingly at the same time – Cuba so often contradicts itself – I did finally find one thing that I was looking for.
I knew that the folks that live along La Farola
Cucurucho
Another Baracoan speciality, you won't believe how hard I tried to get this. A delicious sweet snack made from dried coconut, guava, sugar, honey, mandarin and nuts. – the road leading out of Baracoa to Guantanamo – made
cucurucho and that the family-made ones were the best. I knew our bus would be taking that road so I hoped that just maybe, the bus might stop at some of these roadside vendors.
I fell asleep on the way out of Baracoa and when I awoke, the bus had stopped – right outside a house selling coffee, soft drinks and these cones made of palm fronds tied together by string…cucurucho! Haha!
It’s very sweet – this one had dried coconut mixed with cinnamon, nuts and dried fruits, held together by sugar and honey. It didn’t disappoint. I’ll have to export this somewhere, just like the
“Thai ice-cream rolls” I had in Belize.
With a happy ending, I will therefore say this after my time in Guantanamo;
I f*cking love Cuba!.
Hasta luego,
Derek
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cabochick
Andrea
The Love Hate relationship with Cuba
Thanks for the blog. It reminded me of my own experience in Baracoa and Santiago years back! But now I only fondly remember the love stuff.