(Editor's note: if you haven't read Julia's post about our first 6 days in Cuba, please do so now)
Julia finished with our time in the beautiful but very touristy city of Trinidad. I just want to add that when we paid our Casa Dad for the 3 nights and meals, it was one of the rare times in life when it felt good to give someone money. He worked hard to make sure we had a good stay and cooked some great food. We know that the money will mean a lot to his family and it is so much better than giving it to some faceless hotel chain. I would definitely stay there again, despite the fact he charged us for the water they gave us at dinner and he had his shirt off most of the time.
To leave Trinidad on Saturday, we arrived at the station at 7 AM for a bus to Ciego de Ávila at 8. We had failed to buy tickets in advance and there was some concern that the bus would be full. I was even more concerned when we saw the line of 40 other gringos leading into the bus office. The company is called Viazul and it was basically setup to get tourists around. They are expensive and very inefficient in terms of paperwork. They use the old typewriter printers that they must hand-feed and rip paper to the appropriate size. If you book ahead of time, they just give you a receipt that you use to check in 30 minutes before departure and then get your actual ticket. Thus, when the office doesn't open until 7, and they have buses leaving at 7:30 and 8, you get long lines of people with large backpacks. I was starting to miss the chicken bus system with their frequent departures and no paperwork. After anxiously waiting for 50 minutes, we were able to purchase tickets and made it onto our bus with a few minutes to spare.
In Ciego de Ávila, we found a nice Casa Particular after a short walk. Since Trinidad, I had been having some negative thoughts about the tourist structure in Cuba, but being in this non-touristy town helped a lot. My main issues are with the double currency system that was setup in 1994 and the public transit system (which I will talk about more about later).
The tourist currency is Cuban Covertibles (or CUC) and the local money is Cuban Pesos (or CUP, also called Moneda National). 1 CUC is roughly equal to 24 pesos (and for reference, the CUC is set a 1:1 with the US dollar, although we lose a lot in conversions). Walking around Havana, we saw food counters with prices in pesos and would have to ask for the CUC price. They would be listed for 10 pesos but they would tell us 1 CUC when we asked, probably for simplicity sake. So, a few times we paid more than twice as much for sandwiches and drinks. The worst was in Trinidad when the guy told us a 10 peso pizza was 3 CUC (over 7 times the real price). We laughed and walked away, but knew that we had to get some of this local money. Luckily our kind Casa Dad in Trinidad gave me a good rate of 120 pesos for my 5 CUC. Now we were loaded and ready to eat local.
During our 21 hours in Ciego, we never saw another gringo and paid local prices for food. It started with us finding a guy making pork sandwiches from a cart. We got the price by watching other transactions and ordered 4 for 20 pesos. That is 81 cents to feed 2 people. Add in the 4 pesos we later paid for 2 glasses of lemonade, and you get $1. Now that was a good feeling and quickly changed my perception of Cuba. If you take nothing else away from this blog post, just remember that the local currency is a necessity if you want to experience real life down here (or you could just wait until they unify their currency, as I just read will happen at some point). I just wish we would have gotten some sooner.
Later that afternoon, we checked out a museum loaded with old war memorabilia and some explanations in English. We sat around the central park watching kids run around before getting dinner. We each got bowls of rice and veggies with the meat of our choosing, plus a couple glasses of juice for 48 pesos (or $2). I was really starting to love that city.
Sunday, we headed for the island of Cayo Coco with a decent idea of how to get there and where to stay. First leg was a 90 minute train ride north to Morón. The rail cars were fairly beat up but the ride was smooth and fun to be surrounded by locals doing local things. One guy had a wood box with a rooster in it. Another man asked to see the rooster and proceeded to hold and inspect it, giving an approving nod.
The next leg was a $30 taxi for the 70 kms further north and across a causeway. We had a hotel picked out from the guide book and the driver dropped us off around 11 AM to a site that was undergoing major construction (we assume to get ready for the flood of Americans). It still appeared they had rooms to use so we walked into the office and waited for a lady to track someone down. It is important to know that the island was uninhabited until about 25 years ago and is now a popular destination for Canadians and Europeans who can take direct flights in and stay at all-inclusive resorts right on the beach. We knew this from the book, but hoped that this cheap hotel, a few kms from the beach, would allow us backpackers to enjoy the sites as well. So when a guy walked in and informed us that they had no rooms, it was a bit of a punch in the gut. We didn't really have a backup plan and were now kilometers from anything. My solution to most problems like this is to just start walking down the road... and so we did.
There was a gas station at the main roundabout after 1.5 kms. From there, we turned left and started walking toward the beach and resorts with nothing but trees on either side and no sign of civilization. It didn't take long before a service truck flipped a u-turn and kindly gave us a ride for the 4 kms down to the next roundabout and access to the resorts. We said "gracias" and gave him the coins I had in my pocket. We could now see buildings hidden behind the trees but still had no idea which direction to walk and what we would find. Making an educated guess, we headed west and soon stumbled upon a resort with a gated entrance and workers doing some gardening. After a brief chat with one of the guys who spoke English, they let us in to see how many limbs it would cost us. In a weird way, it was a really fun walk. I imagine most of you have been to a big resort at some point in your life, with the grand curving road entrance surrounded by flowers and statues. The big open reception area with workers in uniforms and air conditioning. Well... we walked into one of those places lugging huge backpacks and dripping in sweat, wondering if this had ever been done before.
The receptionist was kind enough and showed us the price list while Julia asked if we could squeeze into a single. On our walk there, we decided that we would not retreat back to the mainland and had succumbed to the fact that an all-inclusive resort was probably our only option. Setting a price in our heads, when the guy said $171, it was high but a little encouraging. Entering the low season, prices were cheaper than the book led us to believe and we felt confident we could find a more reasonable place.
We walked another 10 minutes down the main road before we found Hotel Colonial and another long guarded entry road. They let us in and we were pleased to hear the price of $140 per night. A little bit of a jump from the $10 we paid in Trinidad, but here we could swim, eat, and drink as much as our hearts desired. The beach was calm and crystal clear with white sand. We got a few drinks from the bar and ran into the water with sheer joy. I believe there is some kind of parable about going through lots of pain and struggle before getting to happiness. It must be true because I wouldn't have wanted to arrive there any other way.
Thumbs up for Hotel Colonial
The beach at our hotel
The next 48 hours were spent eating and drinking until it hurt, followed by swimming.
Monday; we did what everyone does at a 5 star hotel, we washed our clothes in the bathtub and hung them to dry around the room and back patio. Later, we hopped on the tourist bus that goes around the island and stops at every resort, and we could see just how isolated the island is with just 10 huge resorts and not really anything else. It took us to Playa Pilar on Cayo Guillermo, one of the prettiest beaches on the Caribbean and Hemingway's favorite. It really was gorgeous. The sand was so fine it looked and felt like bread flour. It is lined by tree and cactus covered sand dunes. The water was a little choppy but still unbelievably clear. We walked to the rocky point and did some snorkeling, not expecting much. The water was a good depth (about 10 ft) and had lots of plant life. After seeing just a few stray colorful fish, Julia got my attention and pointed to the large school just ahead. It was a blanket of fish that went farther than we could see. Our best guesstimate is 5,000 -10,000, all the same color. They drifted with the waves and spread a little bit when I dove down or kicked. We floated for a few minutes in awe, trying to see where they ended but failed. We also saw a larger fish, about 5ft long with a pointed nose, swim by, spooking us a little. Unfortunately I made the rookie mistake of not charging my camera and the battery died. You will have to use your imagination.
Riding on top of the tourist bus
Playa Pilar
That night; we ate churros, enjoyed a pleasant sit-down meal, watched a salsa show, and caught some of the Blazer game on TV.
On Tuesday, we got the most out of our wristbands with the breakfast buffet, swimming at the beach, packing and checking out right at 12:00, then eating lunch at the snack shop. This laid back time frame would prove to hurt us later on as we tried to get a cab back to Morón. We were told this wouldn't be a problem, but after the receptionist begrudgingly made about 5 phone calls with no luck, we told her we would flag one down and she happily hung up the phone. So it was in the heat of about 12:30 that we threw our packs on our shoulders and left the same way we came in... on foot.
Back down the road to the roundabout, no taxis in sight. We turned and headed in the direction of the main gas station where we figured taxis would be. Julia's waving at every vehicle paid off and we got a ride from a service truck that had seen us walking earlier. He dropped us at the gas station and we knew we were in the right place when we saw 30 locals on the side of the road taking shade in the trees. We saw 3 cabs in the parking lot but they apparently had better things to do. And so we waited in the trees, flailing our arms at every car that rolled by. One bus was going south and had people running after it, but gave the sign that he was full and people retreated to their seats. About a hour passed before one guy told us he had a friend who was a cab driver and offered to call him. We were desperate and already would miss the only onward bus from Morón to Santa Clara. A man rolled up in an Audi with a taxi sign on top and we painfully agreed to pay $40 for the ride. The guy who facilitated the deal rode in the front, we figure he got a piece of the action as well as a free ride home. Sometimes you just have to know they have the advantage and say it is only money.
Figuring things out on the fly now; in Morón we hopped the 4 PM train back down to Ciego de Ávila and were glad to be in a familiar place. We strolled up to the same Casa as last Saturday, stayed in the same room, and ate dinner at the same local kitchen. It was a nice way to transition back into real backpacking. We had experienced the frustrations of the Cuba transportation system firsthand. I am really not sure why they don't have more buses, with the number of people we see standing on the side of the road holding out money, they could easily support more routes. The few buses they have fill up quickly and the scene at local ticket windows is a mob of anxious travelers. Trucks and unofficial taxis fill the void, and we noticed locals in the terminals organizing themselves into groups to split fares instead of waiting. Taxis don't hesitate to run 7 hour trips for tourists, and with the high price of a Viazul bus, it is more convenient and almost as cheap for a large group. Maybe this will change, as we have heard another bus company is starting run some of the busier tourist routes, but we never saw it.
Wednesday, we rode a bus for 7 hours back to Havana in order to catch our Thursday flight. A relatively easy thing to do compared to the past few days. Or at least it began that way. Right as we entered the big city limits, the skies opened up and some of the heaviest rains we have ever seen began to fall. Flashes of lightening could be viewed out the window with loud claps of thunder soon following. A few of the strikes seemed a little too close to our large vehicle made of metal. The streets turned into rivers as we passed half submerged classic cars. Our bus caused a good size wake that had people scrambling to close their doors and get out of the waves. The driver maneuvered well and got us to the covered terminal in one piece, for which he received a rousing round of applause.
View of the Havana streets from our bus into town
We had originally planned to walk and find a Casa near the bus terminal, but that did not sound like fun, so we stayed dry in the terminal for about 30 minutes and came up with a new plan. Picking a hotel out of the travel guide near banks and other services in a suburb west of Havana, we negotiated a taxi down to $10 and jumped in. It was wild. The rain had not let up and numerous times our driver had to turn around due to high water. At one point, his co-pilot said to him (paraphrasing) "You are getting $15 for this, right?". To which he replied, "Nope, only $10", followed by some other stuff I couldn't understand.
When he finally found our street, the water was so deep it began to flow in through the back doors. We now had pools of water at our feet and worried the car would break or be carried away. He found some higher ground at a dead end street and we offered to walk the rest of the way, assuming the hotel was close but mostly just wanting for the ride to be over. And so, yet again we found ourselves walking (or wading) down a road in hopes that something good would happen, battling the elements, this time pouring rain. On the sidewalk, the water was up to our knees, and we tried desperately to find street signs. A group was gathered under an entryway and we asked directions. They pointed us the way and advised us it was safer to walk in the middle of the road. The water now came up to my hips (Julia's waist) but luckily the hotel was in sight. Rolling into the recption office, the ladies reaction was priceless. She ushered us in and made the pain go away by saying they did indeed have a room and we didn't need to go back out side. A music themed hotel attached to a recording studio, our room was named "Bolero", a song I love that the group Pink Martini recorded an amazing version of. We were now able to laugh at the situation and clean our feet.
The restaurant below our hotel was our only option for food, and it was reasonably priced with huge portions. When the rains finally stopped, it took about an hour for the storm drains to clear out and soon we could see the streets again. We walked a couple blocks to the sea wall, watched the waves crash against the rocks, and saw distinct bolts of lightning continuing in the distance. It was now calm and cool, and we enjoyed the air of our last night in Cuba.
Thursday; we awoke to dirty streets and just a slight drizzle. The suburb streets are wide and tree lined, with the occasional international embassy office in an old large house. We did some last minute errands and got a ride to the airport in a rickety van driven by one of the hotel workers. Formalities were fairly straightforward and our flight was only 2 hrs delayed. We blew the last of our CUCs at the airport shops on food and souvenirs. I got a 2nd stamp in my passport from Cuba and have already started working on my story to the US immigration official when we eventually return. Although I imagine this will all be legal by then.
I leave Cuba wondering if I will ever return. Having experienced the gritty city of Havana and the colonial gem of Trinidad, I don't think I will feel the need to roll through the main island anytime soon. The classic cars and architecture are surreal and transport you back in time. The people were very kind and the casa particulars are a great way to see how they live. The countryside was green and beautiful but the food was average. The rum is extremely cheap but the grocery stores are barren. What I do come away with is seeing the potential as a week long beach destination for Americans. The northern beaches are some of the best I have ever seen. The deep-sea fishing and diving is supposedly some the the best in the world, and at just 90 miles south of Florida, it will be an easy flight from the east coast. So I am recommending this as a future getaway to anyone who enjoys those things, but only if you can put up with Canadians in large numbers and small bathing suits.
The storm, taxi ride, and walking in water up to Julia's waist is scary, let alone the dark alleys. I'm glad you survived them all and didn't have any problems with customs.
ReplyDeleteThanks for all the comments, Aunt Candy!
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