Day 21 – Sugary Sweet Trinidad

Trinidad beckoned. Barbara led three of us around the small town’s centre. Highlights included a small square with a statue of Marti and a gaggle of wifi users (a regular sight -Marti might as well have had a wifi symbol emblazoned on his head), a huge queue of employers at the bank trying to pay their staff and the only department store receiving a load of boxes containing chicken breast. Apparently a small box was worth 12 CUC. A cleaning wage for the month was 40. Christ. Combine that with the egg rationing and I would shrivel like a protein deprived old lady here. Little wonder everybody kept their own urban avians!

I took in the huge wrought iron doors and bright colourful buildings. Historically, Trinidad was a wealthy city with cashola earned on the backs of the slaves who toiled in the sugar refineries in the 19th century. The doors protected the loaded descendants of the Spanish from ferals with bricks. Apparently. Or at least it made them feel better about the giant piles of loot they sat on by exploiting others. It was reminiscent of a well kept Havana.

Barbara stopped at the main square which was unlike any other Caribbean zocalo I had ever encountered. It was basically an immaculate Italianate garden with a Greek goddess statue in the middle. All Mediterranean imports- signs of the extreme wealth 19th century sugar sweetened into the economy and civic heart of Trinidad under Spanish colonial rule.

It was a time of great prosperity for a few prestigious families with homes around the square. Now, these buildings with lofty doorways and airy ceilings are public museums for the many to enjoy – not just rich Spanish families who married each other. They owned huge sugar cane plantations in the nearby valley, riding a huge boom based on the product and also on the cheap costs associated with running slave labor. The reason the Spanish held onto Cuba as its last territory in the empire and fought tooth and nail for it – sugar and slaves. It was one of the last places in the world to decriminalise slavery. Cuba’s wealthy liked exploitation the way the drank their coffee – dark and sweet.

Shane, Yvonne and I visited the one billed as a local history museum but turned out to be more of a family history museum of one of the wealthy sugar families inside their house. (At least it’s more interesting than a day at the CSR factory!) Amazing high ceilings, vaulted columns, painted Italian frescoes, marble floor. My God, the place was stunning. I paid extra for a photographic pass but our guide let the others take photos for free. So much for being an international protector and respector of cultural heritage! The big scandal was that the Dona (the lady) was married to a doctor at the time she met Mr Sugar Daddy. Then he mysteriously died … Scandal!

The rooms were fully furnished. All those high ceilings really keep the rooms cool. Outside was hot as hell. Inside, noticeably cooler. We had an English speaking guide who showed us around the old bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, a room dedicated to generic black slavery, mementos of the family like old shoes, and the old coach. This was purely a ground floor operation. (Perhaps more money was spent on vases than a second floor???)

With the exception of the tower which attracts people from the square. Climb it for fun, stay for the baking heat and the excellent views.

From that point on, it was a HockTales adventure TM. The others all wanted to go to the beach for three hours. I understand the English doing it. The closest thing they get to a real beach is VR. But that’s basically consigning me to sitting on a towel for three hours – I don’t really swim, plus we have great beaches at home. I wanted to check out the rest of Trinidad!

So I started with the next big house in the square – the archaeology museum. Man, what a weird little place! No frescoes here but stuffed rodents that looked like they went through a washing machine in 1968, unknown skeletal remains and something about the Indian caves that I didn’t understand. No English captions. A woman tried to sell me doilies over a glass case of bones. Wrong audience there! (Crocheting is a big thing here.)  It was only 1 CUC but it was my last small note. I needed to break a Camillo.

I walked down a handicrafts market on the street behind the museum. I bought a pair of earrings – might have take forever to pick which one. Was about to try to knock two bucks off the price when the lady slapped a shell bracelet on my wrist with lightning quick speed, indicating I could have that too. I gave in. I am a soft touch and a betrayer of the McDuck name, I know.

Time to hunt for Don Pepe.this was not a man or pepper, but  Barbara’s favourite coffee shop. I had a map but must have turned in the wrong direction. Took me about 20 minutes to realise and then get back to where I was originally, then I found another market! After buying a super cute coco taxi – literally made out of a coconut to resemble the tiny taxis of Havana – the girl told me where Don Pepe’s was. Winning!

$1 for a nice espresso and a bathroom. Now I was getting hungry. Don Pepe’s was clearly a bit of an icon. Lots of people here. But no good other than the sandwich with a side of soul destruction I saw on somebody’s plate. This wouldn’t do. I would have to deviate further from the museums for food, do an ATM run and then head back up.

Prior to leaving Mexico, I downloaded the Maps.me app that is like Google maps but doesn’t need internet. You just need to download the country of choice when you do have internet. Stuff that old school map. It was always going to get me into trouble. I typed Café Adita into Maps.me and it gave me exact walking directions through the streets that look the same.

For the first time, I saw a Cubano sandwich on a menu. I now believe this to be a Miami Cubano thing invention since I ate an enormous one there once and didn’t see it on a menu anywhere in Cuba. Any traditional Cubano sandwich would be plain pork as the most available meat. The Cubano here was the same as the Miami one in content – pork, ham and cheese – but on a baguette. Not enormous – there’s not enough to go around! A good size with plantain chips. It was baking hot outside but I needed a caffeine hit. I couldn’t face a hot coffee so I ordered their cold coffee, the Frappuccino. Or the Fail-a-ccino. The blockade is no excuse for serving basically ice and whipped cream in a tea cup. I think there was maybe a shot of coffee in there? Barista courses needed urgently to Cuba. Please send charity money now. Situation critical in some corners of the country.

Despite this caff-tastrophe, I enjoyed sitting on the upper floor looking over the other patrons. Dona Rosa. I have decided that is my Spanish lady name. I think it sounds nice. Also because Don Rosa writes Scrooge McDuck comics!

Every a short sojourn to the ATM, I stumbled upon an ice cream shop. Seriously, it was really hot and I am from Adelaide where it can reach 48 degrees. I was thinking it must have been mid to late 30s? One of the hardest things to deal with was no weather apps. I was just guessing it was hot if it wasn’t Havana. Ice cream servings were mango and guava. Not generous and rather average – I wonder if the milk was powdered??

Time for Maps.me to roar to life. This time, I was on the hunt for the revolutionary museum. Barbara warned me this was not about Fidel and Che, but what happened after when counted rebellions tried to oust the rebellions. The museum is also known as the museum of the bandits because those insurrections were guerilla type encounters. I swear she told me there was a replica of the boat, the Granma, that Fidel Castro and the others officially started the revolution from.

No English captions. I hit upon the brilliant idea of waving Google translate over the captions. They made half garbled sense in parts????? I was through the museum itself quite quickly since comprendo poquito. I saw a boat and a tank. Faces and faces and names and names of people who were tortured and killed, I think fighting against those trying to destabilise the communist government. Another wing was more of a heroes of the revolution wing with photos, flags and memorabilia.

Then I climbed the museum’s tower for views. Wow! The big bells made the views look even cooler than the other tower!!

Now it was time to visit Granma. I asked the tower attendant where Granma was and she pointed the courtyard. I descended, thinking she meant there was a further room I had missed. Nope. I asked another attendant. The reply, ‘Havana’. Oh well. I was coming back. I could pencil in a session with Granma who had proven herself an absent Boaty McBoatFace thus far.

Next was the Romance museum where Barbara’s husband worked as a security guard on a 24 hour roster. This sounds a bit like the Trinidad porn museum but this was not Amsterdam – although, trust me these Cubans are no prudes!!! I think it just meant Romantic like Italianate figures on vases – the shepherdesses and dashing men wearing breeches and wigs standing in front of ruins etc. What it really meant was another wealthy sugar family’s home reconstructed with china cabinets, portraits, dining rooms etc. It wasn’t too different from the previous one except that the rooms were smaller, the building covered a second storey and this family really liked their breakables!!! Without an English guide or information panels, I have no idea what was going on. It was a pleasant ten minutes with stunning views over the Trinidad rooftops.

But it was time to head back to the hotel to meet the others for a scheduled rum tasting, which ended up being just across the street.  As I sat there eyeing off most of the bottles I had managed to sample myself, I thought that rum tasting was such a refined way of describing a taste of some of the dead cheapest booze I had ever bought in my life. There was old mate Havana Especial – 4 AUD. The gentleman also brought some from the top end – Ritual, Santiago, Havana 7 Anos – but mostly tried to pass around samples from the cheap end of the rum pool – especial, and blanco.(Quick lesson – dark rims are for drinking straight or on the rocks or with Coke. Blanco – white rum – is for mixing with cocktails – it is nasty on its own. All of these were dark except Blanco.) Granted, we got a crack at Santiago which is now owned by Bacardi and it was up to snuff. But there were four bottles from the top end just sitting there. No, no no, my friend. This was a tasting – not show and tell. Put your rummy where my mouth is!

I asked outright about Havana Club Anos 7. Begrudgingly, he opened it and it was a salsa party in my mouth. Very smooth. I could see why it cost more. He very quickly shut up shop then, almost as if he was afraid I was going to force him to crack open every bottle for a free sample which I probably would have because it was a TASTING!!!! This man betrayed the spirit of spirits. What tasting lets you get away with only three sips??? And with one that they know you won’t like?

Barbara took us for dinner to a restaurant with an awesome sunset view over the city. I ate ropa vieja which translates directly as shredded clothes but is shredded beef – a Cuban specialty. I suspect there were rice and beans too. They love rice and beans!  I ordered water. It never came. That happened frequently.

Barbara told us about a nightclub in a cave. This sounded to me like the coolest thing on the planet. Unfortunately nobody wanted to go with me – did I mention I was the youngest at 41 ???- and Barbara didn’t want me to go alone so another disappointing night followed. Colm, Barbara, Yvonne and I drank the weakest mojitos in existence at the venue by the cathedral steps. We stopped in at salsa corner afterwards because Yvonne wanted to salsa. Colm and I had a better mojito before Yvonne decided she didn’t want to salsa after all and we went home. I later saw my friend Brin’s photos of the cave club and it looks awesome. It’s a cave!!!! Everything is more fun in a cave!! Particularly caving!

Tune in for the next post when the wheels of the revolution hit Santa Clara and everything is all about Che Guevara.