Casa Isabelita. Now known to me as the House of Pancakes. After an incident with the shower curtain (that rod was attached with a wing and a prayer truly- so not my fault), I met Yvonne and Kim in the dining room of the main house. Yvonne, from Switzerland, and Kim from the UK were rooming together while I bunked alone. The three of us as the solo femmes were always placed together in guesthouses. Isabelita’s underlings excelled themselves with the usual fare plus a toasted ham and cheese sandwich and a pancake!
Vinales is a small country town. No giant doors here. The houses are all single storey with fences and beautiful front gardens. Only a few main streets, including a cinema but the experiment was less cine-phile than cine-fail. Cubans don’t go to the cinema. (Maybe they can’t sit still long enough. Maybe it’s too expensive. God knows they aren’t downloading movies without home internet connections. There must be some serious booty in pirated DVDs here???) Despite the signs, cinemas in Cuba are officially bars now. Big surprise.
The attractions are mostly associated with the area’s natural beauty. The popular highlight of Vinales is the tobacco farm. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t smoke and didn’t touch a cigar the whole time I was there – but this was one of the best things I did in Cuba. It sounds boring but was so much better than going to see a bunch of tobacco plants or a soulless factory. Vinales has a unique microclimate in Cuba – cooler than any of the other places we visited – that promotes a thriving horticulture industry of tobacco and coffee. Probably doesn’t hurt the gardens. I also saw a papier-mâché t-Rex peering out from the undergrowth in some garden.
The local guide, Abel, was not afraid to rock a massive touristy sombrero to stand out (the first time I actually saw somebody wear one). He led a relatively large group of mixed tourists from everywhere, but only Yvonne accompanied me from the tour group. We walked the streets towards the fields, stopping at quaint houses with green and red plants, bright flowers and fruit trees. The houses are iridescent; you can probably see them from space. The contrast with Havana is marked. People clearly love these homes and/or rely on them as the guesthouse dinero for a crust (not that they have those without sliced bread) and they are meticulously maintained. Nobody will be crushed under a balcony here. Still a few 50s cars out here too but that’s more a Havana phenomenon. The taxis are just yellow.
If Havana is like a 1940s urban timewarp with ration books, Vinales is a rural 1910s flashback without the big pre-war collars. A dirt road marks the end of suburbia. A man ploughs a giant field of dirt by hand with two bulls. Not a piece of John Deere equipment in sight. Going to be a while before the Internet of Things gets agricultural sensors and geospatial data out here. Abel tells us pesticides are banned. The farm is also a bit of a cowboy and horse riding hangout and some beautiful horses trot by.
The scenery is breathtaking. So green and lush. Abel takes us to the tobacco field with green plants that come from the same family as the potato. He turns to the right and tells us to look at something special. Suddenly, a shot of ice water stronger than mezcal flushes my veins. A turkey! I scream and bolt behind a brick structure. They terrify me! I have a pretty solid phobia of the winged demons with the horrible wattle. Even pictures in books scare the crap out of me. They are my nemesis.
With a vigilant eye on my ancient enemy, we move on …
We enter a huge wooden shed filled with dry tobacco leaves. The huge racks and walls of leaves look amazing in the shed. Rustic, powerful image. Abel tells us Vinales supplies all the major cigar companies. Chickens lurk. I keep a wary eye. Not keen on those either.
Next, we take a seat and watch this surly cowboy roll cigars. Charles Bronson eat your heart out. He even stuck a knife in the table. I got the feeling he did this for the tourists under great sufferance. Watch me take my time, capitalist pigs.
Our stroll through the farm took us past the houses of workers living on the property. Do bright and colourful with immaculate gardens and plants. Abel stopped to point out little plants and fruits along the way. We stopped at Antonio’s, an 83 year coffee grower and roaster whose 5 children helped him run the business from the back of his house. A short black was in order. Strong, hot and delicious. Antonio sold beans to go but with five countries to go and a Nespresso machine at home, there was little point.
Vamos! (That means move on).
The walk was quite relaxing as we strolled through fields and gazed over scenic vistas. More bright horses, horses, fields. After the concrete jungle of Havana, it was tranquil and chill. Instead of being killed by a falling balcony, the worst that could happen was stepping in horse poo.
The cows had little mates! A heron accompanied each one looking for stick insects. Maybe attracted to the cow dung??? A woman in our group thought it was a seagull. Jesus.
Abel then led us for some alcoholic refreshments. It was about 11am. Surely it was time to put rum in something. This time, it was a coconut. Same deal. Drink it down but the staff filled it up for you. No self-serve, less bueno. By the way, white rum goes in cocktails. Dark rum is always straight. Just sayin’.
On the walk back to town, the cigar rolling cowboy told my friend she was beautiful in Spanish and they chatted the rest of the way back to town. Turns out the cowboy rides a push bike instead of a horse. Frankly, that was disappointing.
After Yvonne and I threw down a quick lunch, we grabbed a can to the Indian caves. Nada context here. I think Indian remains were found somewhere. That’s about all I can say. No guide here. Nothing show where or what or anything about said remains. I have been in many caves in my life – this was pretty average. Limestone I think? Caves are pretty cool on the whole – very Geiger-esque. This one was a 5 minute walk to a dock where it suddenly took a Disneyland Pirates of the Caribbean twist with a queue for a boat ride. Boat guy used a laser pointer to highlight a skull, face profile, an eagle and a few others. We emerged outside from a very lush jungle opening and into a bunch of tourist stalls. Ah, Cuba. Always trying to make a quick CUC.
We eventually located our cab and headed back to town. 10 minutes. Nothing is far from Vinales. Yvonne and I split up. I think she just wanted to rest. I checked out the handicrafts market, grabbed a coffee and then looked in the closest thing Vinales has to a convenience store. First thing you notice is that all bags must be deposited in lockers and there’s a guard standing there monitoring everything. Ok. I dumped my bag to check out the shelves. Pringles, washing liquid, water, some tourist tat, I think some toothpaste and sun cream, and two whole rows of rum. But the price!!! A bottle of Havana Especial cost the same as a litre of water. 2.95 CUC or 4.38 AUD. Ridiculously cheap. I couldn’t resist. Truly, if I was after the authentic Cubano experience, I couldn’t leave that mercado without a bottle. So I queued up, desperately hoping I could bust a Camillo here. (Explanation- Camillo Cienfuego, the revolutionary, is on their 20 CUC note. That’s a big bill. Nobody wants to take it. The mercado checkout chick didn’t bat an eyelid -suspect there was a lot of rum bought there.) On the way out, all shoppers must present their receipt and items to the security guard for inspection! It’s going to be a while before Cubans hear the phrase ‘unexpected item in baggage area’.
I headed home to quickly get changed into the red number in the photo I’ll the top. Yvonne, Kim and I were going for a salsa lesson. Cubans have been salsa-ing since birth. They literally just grab each other off the street and start doing it. We all just mosh, jump up and down or sway to music in clubs – not here. These people move their feet and hips forward, backwards and sideways and partner each other. There’s so much music on the street or coming out of clubs or bars or coffee shops. If you’re not in the band, you’re dancing to it.
Well, I tried. I guess it’s just not my thing. I am a bit of a perfectionist. The instructor kept telling me to relax but how could I when I couldn’t remember the steps and kept getting one in particular wrong? The most important thing is to keep moving. I decided I just preferred to stand in a corner with rum and nod my head a lot, hoping for the Macarena or the Madison.
Once the sun went down, a chill permeated the air. I performed another dash for a costume change before meeting the others for tapas. The national beer – Bucanero – came out with a free snack. Salud to that! I went for grilled pork. Then I had another beer michelada style which means with Worcestershire sauce, lime and salt. I added tobasco for an extra kick. Afterwards, Kim, Yvonne and I went to a nearby bar for the lamest daiquiri in history – so weak that I abandoned it – was a slushie for grown-ups. The nice bar staff gave us access to their wifi which was incredibly nice – never happened anywhere else throughout the trip.
Cuban Internet is terrible. You can either rely on the generosity of others like the nice bar staff giving you their password, or you can buy a wifi access card from a telecom outlet. The card gives you a password valid for one hour but you have to find a hotspot where it will work. Big hotels or some public squares mostly. That’s the hard part. Even if you find it, the signal might be very poor. I didn’t bother, devising that digital detox for a week was a good thing.
The three of us met Barbara and went to a local club which was a pretty casual affair. Not like there was music pumping for people to dance to. More like a band with a singer and some dancers performing the salsa I sucked at. But people did get up and have a go when the floor was clear. Not me though.
Stay tuned for the HockTales Bay of Pigs invasion!
HockTales: a Central American Adventure 