3. Cienfuegos
So, a week after my arrival in Cuba, with my Spanish now of necessity much improved and with a growing awareness of the vast subterranean complexities of Cuban culture, I am brave enough to venture beyond the well trodden tourist route.
Thus in the pitch darkness of sleeping pre- dawn Vinales I lug my rucksack along the rutted roads to board a bus for the long haul to the bay town of Cienfuegos. As dawn breaks our ancient coach lumbers through a magical countryside illuminated in the golden glow of the rising sun.
I am traveling on the only option for independent foreign travelers herebackpackers here, the Viazul, a state run bus system for non Cubans . It is not exactly comfortable, all buses are Chinese imports which have seen many better years. It is, however, very expensive, especially compared to local public transport, or 'omnibus nationale' which I , as an international, am not allowed to use. Tickets on these more frequent buses are payable in CUP which technically I am not allowed to use, and drivers refuse to make exceptions for fear of being fined.
This is vastly unfair, but Cuba has the tourist trade neatly sewn up.
As I can only travel on the Viazul ( or by exorbitant taxi) and I can only stay in designated, segregated casas, universally priced at between 20 -30 CUC ( @ 20-25 pounds) per room, I am finding Cuba is by far the most expensive of any country I have visited outside the first world.
I am already deeply resentful and angry at a system designed to exploit visitors, anger which only increases during my stay as I realise how little of my CUC find their way to locals. The casa owners pay a high % of every stay to the Government for their licence, as do restaurant owners per capita and businesses, all CUC is declarable and ends up funding the Government rather than the people. Their words not mine, and I appreciate their sentiment.
Ironically the money I pay which is most valuable to individual Cubans is my local currency, CUP they can pocket freely. So, with my illegal CUP I enjoy Cuban street food sold by willingly complicit locals.
Street pizza, my favourite, is fresh, hot and delicious perfect for supper at 50p a slice, served rolled up like a sandwich. I have not yet perfected the Cuban knack of not letting the red hot sauce drip out, and my clothes are now dotted with red tomato stains. Ice cream, a national obsession, is equally cheap and equally delicious, the perfect desert.
Backpacking in Cuba is not encouraged, tourists on all inclusive or package tours are ushered in as resorts use only CUC. Independent travel here is possible, but the only way to cut costs is food and market shopping, there is just no way around the lodging and travel costs without exposing Cubans to the risk of fines and myself to expulsion.
Hence my journey on the battered Viazul coach involves sharing a moan with my fellow passengers in diverse languages about the cost of our ticket, the cost of Cuba, discussing the surreal weirdness of contemporary Cuba and communally sharing our street breakfasts of Cuban bread sticks and guava filled pastries as we watch the vibrant wetlands of the East gradually fade into the dusty barren plains synonymous of most of the countryside.
The journey gets more painful as the hours go on. Tarmac peters out as Havana fades into the distance. Tourist route from the capital to Vinales are well maintained. Normal Cuban roads are not. The Government rest stop half way between Havana and Vinales, with its well maintained toilets and shops, turns out to be the only one of its kind in the whole of Cuba. Roadside 'restaurants' with dodgy plumbing, seating optional, for this trip which ,with the benefit of hindsight, I should have appreciated more.
I arrive in the harbour town of Cienfuegos mid afternoon, bottom sore and dehydrated. In Vinales my casa owner had phoned ahead to reserve me a room here with her friend, as per Cuban social etiquette. Needless to say, yet again, as before, when I appear I am sent on to another house.
I can understand why I am not entirely welcome. Although I pay the same room rate as a couple, I actually am less valuable, because I do not spend two people's money. In my case I do not even spend one person's money as, beyond paying for the room, I do not take the water left out for guests at inflated prices, I do not accept the offer for supper, at inflated prices (as a vegetarian, impossible anyway) and I do not take up suggestions for tours from family and friends, at inflated prices.
My reluctance to part with liberal amounts of cash is no doubt already noted by the informal casa network. The cash itself does not filter down to them, the Gov cut is notoriously high, but the casa books show less profit.
I prefer to contribute to Cuba in a way that suits me too, i.e. paying locally, even happily over the odds, but in the cheaper national currency, money which benefits Cubans not the Government, who are seen to be distant and disconnected from everyday society, having abandoned all but the artifice of communism once the money ran out.
Anyway, exhausted and fed up after my ten hour journey, when I finally found a tiny cell of a room, I shed the first of several Cuba induced tears.
Unexpected result: much nicer room, a free breakfast, and the family who own this house kindly offer to pay my bicycle taxi fare from the bus terminus. My genuine upset also makes me realise Cuban folk are generally truly lovely people, full of empathy and keen to help when they can.
Cienfuegos is a wealthy town with well preserved architecture thanks to a thriving port, and the shops actually have stock! By dinting of queuing with locals the next day I acquire shampoo, body lotion and toothpaste. Very happy!
My free breakfast is surprisingly filling, fresh fruit, rolls, cheese breads, fried sweet pancake drops, fresh juice and coffee. The young family work hard to ensure I am content, I am one of their first guests, and I really do appreciate their efforts, writing a good review on tripadvisor and leaving a generous tip!
This harbour town is fun. Not many tourists, good natured, well heeled Cubans in party mood, wide, french inspired promenades, shops with real items, I feel as if I'm on holiday with the locals here, sunshine, summer atmosphere, sunny mood prevails.
So, a week after my arrival in Cuba, with my Spanish now of necessity much improved and with a growing awareness of the vast subterranean complexities of Cuban culture, I am brave enough to venture beyond the well trodden tourist route.
Thus in the pitch darkness of sleeping pre- dawn Vinales I lug my rucksack along the rutted roads to board a bus for the long haul to the bay town of Cienfuegos. As dawn breaks our ancient coach lumbers through a magical countryside illuminated in the golden glow of the rising sun.
I am traveling on the only option for independent foreign travelers herebackpackers here, the Viazul, a state run bus system for non Cubans . It is not exactly comfortable, all buses are Chinese imports which have seen many better years. It is, however, very expensive, especially compared to local public transport, or 'omnibus nationale' which I , as an international, am not allowed to use. Tickets on these more frequent buses are payable in CUP which technically I am not allowed to use, and drivers refuse to make exceptions for fear of being fined.
This is vastly unfair, but Cuba has the tourist trade neatly sewn up.
As I can only travel on the Viazul ( or by exorbitant taxi) and I can only stay in designated, segregated casas, universally priced at between 20 -30 CUC ( @ 20-25 pounds) per room, I am finding Cuba is by far the most expensive of any country I have visited outside the first world.
I am already deeply resentful and angry at a system designed to exploit visitors, anger which only increases during my stay as I realise how little of my CUC find their way to locals. The casa owners pay a high % of every stay to the Government for their licence, as do restaurant owners per capita and businesses, all CUC is declarable and ends up funding the Government rather than the people. Their words not mine, and I appreciate their sentiment.
Ironically the money I pay which is most valuable to individual Cubans is my local currency, CUP they can pocket freely. So, with my illegal CUP I enjoy Cuban street food sold by willingly complicit locals.
Street pizza, my favourite, is fresh, hot and delicious perfect for supper at 50p a slice, served rolled up like a sandwich. I have not yet perfected the Cuban knack of not letting the red hot sauce drip out, and my clothes are now dotted with red tomato stains. Ice cream, a national obsession, is equally cheap and equally delicious, the perfect desert.
Backpacking in Cuba is not encouraged, tourists on all inclusive or package tours are ushered in as resorts use only CUC. Independent travel here is possible, but the only way to cut costs is food and market shopping, there is just no way around the lodging and travel costs without exposing Cubans to the risk of fines and myself to expulsion.
Hence my journey on the battered Viazul coach involves sharing a moan with my fellow passengers in diverse languages about the cost of our ticket, the cost of Cuba, discussing the surreal weirdness of contemporary Cuba and communally sharing our street breakfasts of Cuban bread sticks and guava filled pastries as we watch the vibrant wetlands of the East gradually fade into the dusty barren plains synonymous of most of the countryside.
The journey gets more painful as the hours go on. Tarmac peters out as Havana fades into the distance. Tourist route from the capital to Vinales are well maintained. Normal Cuban roads are not. The Government rest stop half way between Havana and Vinales, with its well maintained toilets and shops, turns out to be the only one of its kind in the whole of Cuba. Roadside 'restaurants' with dodgy plumbing, seating optional, for this trip which ,with the benefit of hindsight, I should have appreciated more.
I arrive in the harbour town of Cienfuegos mid afternoon, bottom sore and dehydrated. In Vinales my casa owner had phoned ahead to reserve me a room here with her friend, as per Cuban social etiquette. Needless to say, yet again, as before, when I appear I am sent on to another house.
I can understand why I am not entirely welcome. Although I pay the same room rate as a couple, I actually am less valuable, because I do not spend two people's money. In my case I do not even spend one person's money as, beyond paying for the room, I do not take the water left out for guests at inflated prices, I do not accept the offer for supper, at inflated prices (as a vegetarian, impossible anyway) and I do not take up suggestions for tours from family and friends, at inflated prices.
My reluctance to part with liberal amounts of cash is no doubt already noted by the informal casa network. The cash itself does not filter down to them, the Gov cut is notoriously high, but the casa books show less profit.
I prefer to contribute to Cuba in a way that suits me too, i.e. paying locally, even happily over the odds, but in the cheaper national currency, money which benefits Cubans not the Government, who are seen to be distant and disconnected from everyday society, having abandoned all but the artifice of communism once the money ran out.
Anyway, exhausted and fed up after my ten hour journey, when I finally found a tiny cell of a room, I shed the first of several Cuba induced tears.
Unexpected result: much nicer room, a free breakfast, and the family who own this house kindly offer to pay my bicycle taxi fare from the bus terminus. My genuine upset also makes me realise Cuban folk are generally truly lovely people, full of empathy and keen to help when they can.
Cienfuegos is a wealthy town with well preserved architecture thanks to a thriving port, and the shops actually have stock! By dinting of queuing with locals the next day I acquire shampoo, body lotion and toothpaste. Very happy!
My free breakfast is surprisingly filling, fresh fruit, rolls, cheese breads, fried sweet pancake drops, fresh juice and coffee. The young family work hard to ensure I am content, I am one of their first guests, and I really do appreciate their efforts, writing a good review on tripadvisor and leaving a generous tip!
This harbour town is fun. Not many tourists, good natured, well heeled Cubans in party mood, wide, french inspired promenades, shops with real items, I feel as if I'm on holiday with the locals here, sunshine, summer atmosphere, sunny mood prevails.
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