Cienfuegos

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.

vinales

2. Vinales

Four hours to the West but a world away from Havana lies the stunning valley of Vinales.  Lush, vibrant, agricultural, landscape, tranquil, rural bliss after the city madness. The low mountain outcrops (mogotes) soar over fertile plantations, tobacco crops, sugar fields, market vegetables. Here horse and cart dominate traffic flow (our bus followed this one for the last five miles into the town) setting the tone for a welcome slow down in the pace of life.

My new homestay  room is with a "friend of a friend " of the family Hilda reserved for me.  Um. Cuban  casa mafia is hard, even impossible,  to challenge but in this small bustling market town rooms seem identical so I see no reason to worry when I am directed to an alternative home and contently settle in to my tiny little bedroom (alcove). This is it, tucked into the nook of the main home,  see, I even have my own wicker chair.

I resist the constant sales pitch from the ever present touts for walking tours of surrounding tobacco fields or the sugar plantations, guided hikes, treks, etc, irritatingly promoted by the casa family, friends and ,frankly,  anyone and everyone in Vinales 

Instead I  insist I will find a bike to rent. Magically,  despite early denials, when it becomes apparent I will not pay for anything else, a bike appears from another " friend of a friend". Lo, I can cycle freely in this national park  after all. Funny that.

A blissful few days. Ten minutes ride from the town and I have the valleys and fields to myself, The heat is not too intense, the hills not too steep, and I follow dusty tracks through the stunning red earth landscape, winding my own way around this gorgeous scenic valley.

I sail past all but one of the advertised giant caves, visiting one to reassure myself I wasn't missing anything ( I wasn't).  

I eat my picnic lunches under the shade of swaying palms, admiring the colorful chattering birds, the dragonflies darting over the abundant streams, the lizards sunbathing on the hot rocks and as darkness falls I sit peacefully under the bright stars absorbing the sounds of this small but busy market town, the hub of this rich agricultural area.

Vinales is a haven, secure in its UNESCO status, a national park protected from development where the well cultivated farms are prosperous and the small town comfortable with tourists.  Mind, body and spirit duly revitalized.  With hindsight I appreciate this even more, it is by far the most beautiful spot in the country, the highlight of my trip.

Cuba 2017

Cuba

Introduction

My rambling jottings from my 4 weeks in Cuba. A trip which turned out to be substantially different to the one  envisaged when I left home. A country substantially different in reality to the image I had in mind. Fascinating and frustrating in equal measure, this was not the month I had planned, although it was certainly an experience.

The arrival

1. Havana

I arrive exhausted after a 10 hour flight with no entertainment (thank god for podcasts). Two hour wait for bags to be delivered as staff were on a 'break'. Welcome to Havana. My first inkling that all would not be as glorious as the tourist posters suggest.

My taxi driver gives me a tour of the darkened city accompanied by impassioned rhetoric. Honesty, I am to find,  is a true genuine Cuban trait. Patriotism, I am to find, is sadly no longer common.

My first 'casa particular' (homestay) and my only pre booked item. Genuine lovely couple, Hilda and Alejandro, whose spotless apartment. alas, adjoins a massive hotel construction site. 

Welcome to Cuba, where the status quo is widespread destruction and construction. Wide ranging architectural glories disappearing into the dust, under the hammers of ever hopeful entrepreneurs.  The symbolic gleaming classic cars touting for tourists in Parque Central are iconography for western eyes, not everyday fare.

Over the next few days I wander this bizarre, chaotic city.

The most striking contrast to home is not the weather (35 degrees here) or the filthy, polluted, streets, but the empty shops and markets.

It is not just the lack of Americanized goods and services,  the Macdonalds and Starbucks which have crept into most major cities across the world, but the stark lack of anything much at all. 

Shops full of empty shelves. Or rows and rows of the same item. For reasons I never did fathom, jars of mayonnaise being the most common, hence no doubt the popularity of mayonnaise in Cuban diets. Mayonnaise sandwich anyone?  Cubans, I realize, thrive of adaptation. 

This first week I endeavor to master the two currency system. Foreigners must (should) use CUC , the convertible peso, commonly known as the tourist dollar. Locals trade in 'money nationale', or CUP.  The 25 CUP to 1 CUC deal is a technicality purely for exchange purposes. After that, its simply two currencies. There is very little bridge between the two apart from cafes in tourist areas which also serve locals. Mostly there are two different markets, two different goods and services, and locals pay less, much much less, than tourists. 

By dint of stalking people in the street I discover how to barter in CUP, how to buy street pizza for less than 50p (as opposed to £7-10 in a restaurant), how to enter the co operative markets and bargain for bananas, breads, cakes and ice cream, my diet staples. I have two purses (the notes are very similar) and throughout my stay in Cuba I use mainly the money nationale for everything apart from transport and lodging, which are rigidly segregated and I cannot blag my way as a local.

It saves  me a fortune as this is an incredibly expensive destination now, the exchange rate is dire.

Also in Havana I come to terms with the fact that it is it is impossible to find coffee ( huts serve tiny, wee cups of
 very strong, pre sugared expresso for 1 CUP ,so I drink several at a time. I yet again am grateful for my beloved  travel kettle, worth every inch of space in my rucksack.

My host Hilda has good English and between us we plan my route around the island. I hunt down the bus station and emerge triumphant hours later with a clutch of tickets. 

Hilda phones her friends to pre arrange my casas. In theory, all is good.  In practice I am to learn the hard way the casa mafia have their own system and transport here is erratic but at this time I am happy and optimistic. 

Five days after leaving England I am ready to move on, I have adjusted to the heat, spent many hours wandering the crazy, dusty, chaotic streets, peering at the eclectic architecture, ambling the malecon (sea wall) listening to music, salsa, jazz, rumba, drifting from cafes and bars , eating street food, and dodging the ubiquitous touts keen to persuade me to travel in their ridiculously overpriced classic cars or visit an overpriced restaurant. 

Ambivalent emotions. Havana is not the city I expected. The two currency system engenders a sense of injustice which lurks throughout my stay, despite the knowledge that I am rich by Cuban standards.  I sense, accurately, a lack of natural wonders and wildlife.The abundant animals are functional ones, the horses which are the main form of transport, the cows, pigs and chickens for sustenance. Stray dogs and cats are everywhere, a pitiful sight 

There is a buzz here, amidst the seething mass of humanity packing the crowded streets of dusty Havana, there is a pulsing sense of a country on the cusp of change.  Patriotic slogans adorn every street corner, but the word on the street is of moving forward not looking back. Graffiti hails the heroes of the revolution but the Government are openly criticized as corrupt, blamed for the dire economic state of Cuba today.

The oil price has quadrupled over the last year as Cuba's long running deal with Venezuela collapses, sugar crops, formerly a major export, now fail after years of neglect, and the much hyped tourism industry is clearly failing too, the recent cholera outbreak, food and energy shortages and extortionate rates, literally twice as much as nearby Mexico, have led many holiday companies to stop listing Cuba.

Hilda has been a great host, I shall miss my little room, the safety net in the middle of hectic Havana. She has helped me understand, as much as any outsider can, how to function here alone, in a country where solo travelers are unusual, especially women.  

Until recently the only way to see Cuba was by package deal, lone backpackers, especially women,  are unusual . Its going to  be an interesting trip!

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