Category: Cuba

Situated in the center of the island, Camaguey is the third largest Cuban city with a population of 321,000.  The city has a labyrinth of winding alleyways and streets that lead to either plazas or dead ends and is totally confusing.

Sancti Spiritus  is a little treasure trove of crooked streets to wander around and is also full of colourful, picturesque and curious sights. The pictures below are not shops, they are private houses on semi quiet streets…glance into the door and you are looking straight into the lounge.  Pause and look at the wares and Mama comes out to serve you in her apron. 

We are only staying one night here in Santa Clara.  It is on the main tourist track but only seems to be an ‘en route’ two hour stop for the tour buses at the couple of main tourists sites this town is famous for…..all things Che Guevara.

The small areas of sand were pure white and sea at Playa Ancon was a beautiful turquoise…you all know what beachy people Rosie and The Operator are…we stalked the perimeter, took a few pics and went to find a lobster lunch. 

The bell in front of the house, which used to hang in the tower was rung to summon the slaves from the fields after a days work.   On a more sinister note, the bell was also rung if a runaway slave was seen escaping….then the hounds were released….

Trindad is a totally walkable wee town, there are so many colourful sights and plenty of places to stop,  refresh and people watch in the shade.  The main square is the Plaza Mayor, where a band plays continuously at the bar halfway up the steps and tourists sit in the shade of the trees and the shadow of the church. 

Ronaldo drives us carefully in his Taxi, the road to Trinidad is slow, narrow and filled with potholes.  He tells us that it is the time of the year that the crabs come down from the mountains where they live in trees and make their way to the beach where they mate and have their babies.

Today, this city is another time capsule to the revolution.  It is painted in pastel and whites and is much more oppulant, modern and maintained.  Horse and carts still traverse the streets with their drivers talking on the latest mobile phones.

6 tourists are standing on the roadside in the burning sun watching as our taxis get smaller and smaller and further away.  Rosie waves and says ‘bye bye bags, passports and money’…then watches as it dawns on the faces of a couple of the others that this could be an elaborate bag swindle….the French couple shrug, show no emotion at all and light another cigarette.

The country side is covered in magotes, which are unique to this region.  They are giant limestone, steep sided hills that just rise out of the landscape in a rounded tower like form.  These hills are all surrounded by the fertile alluvial plains the Vinales Valley is famous for.

So we arrived at the Balcon de Valle.  It is a restaurant comprised of three side by side independent decks, on a high vantage point, attached to trees, hanging over the valley.  The precarious decks hang out over the precipice and on closer inspection are very dubiously constructed….but WOW, what a vista!

My sign language for never having ridden a horse before was met with a smiling Roberto nodding his head saying ‘ Pape Tullo automatico’…OK.  Roberto motioned for me to put my foot in the stirrup and throw my leg over….

Rosie has even seen a few chickens on the footpath dodging the wheelie cases from the tourists that flood into this town. Red concrete tile roofs cover brilliantly coloured single story casas, all of the casas have deep front decks that stretch to the edge of the footpath and all the doors and shutters are wide open to let in the cool breeze.

The road to Vinales became two skinny lanes, one up and one back, the cars became less frequent and horse and carts became more prevalent, skinny red dirt tracks wound off this road toward brightly coloured houses with chickens and pigs in the front yard and palm trees shading the porches.

The Operator put our suitcases in the boot and watched Haroldo tie the boot shut with some baling twine…there was no catch.  There was no air conditioning, Rosies window did not wind down, but luckily the front windows were down all the way and driving speed made for a nice air and bug flow….pity about Rosie’s poor little pink lungs having to ingest all the carbon monoxide coming in the window.  Never mind, its Cuba, this is exciting, we are underway!

The exhibits inside mainly chronicle the period of the Revolutionary War of the 1950s, totally one sided, totally biased and very muchly skewed to the Cuban perspective if you were to take any notice of the mumbling Americans trotting around. No Photos!  Revolutionaries do not say please.

The streets in the Viejo are narrow, the roads still hazardous and full of potholes, open grates and the loose cobblestones need as much negotiating and clear wits as well as avoiding the dog shit grenades which seem to be strategically placed in spots where you are naturally looking up at interesting buildings.  The Operator was watching Rosie’s foot placement and was on the ball after a few near calls.

Grand old buildings line the road on either side of the Prado and one lane of belching classic roar up one side and down the other.  It is a fab place to people watch and stroll, there are places to sit in the shade and enjoy ice creams from roving vendors, art stands to peruse and impromptu dance classes where people just seemed to join in.  Kids bought their balls and strap on roller skates here and played while their Mums gossiped in the shade.

We rented a car for a one hour trip around the city…some of the tourist sites are quite a distance away and our bike taxi would not cut the mustard.  Enrique was our man, in his cowboy hat….off we went in his pink Cadillac.  He cranked up the radio after a battle with the gears to get rolling and off we went cruising the Prado.  The cool breeze was in Rosies hair and Cuban sounds were pumping as Enrique pointed out all the sites….and we couldn’t understand a word he said….