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Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Eight

AT SIXES AND SEVENS

City of Cienfuegos, Saturday, September 10th, 2005, 12:30pm
Getting from Santa Clara to Cienfuegos was easy - I had to backtrack a little on the carretera, then take the wide, smooth “Autopista Nacional” westwards for half the trip. Eventually I stopped to ask for directions - and just in time, too. A police officer told me “yeah, just get off the autopista by taking that dirt road south, and turn right when you hit the carretera”.

“That dirt road” ended up being somewhat less hospitable than what we consider a “dirt road” here. Cows, goats and other mammals chained to farmhouse fences blissfully ignored me as the “whizz whizz whizz” of my bike pedals swept by them, and potholes the size of basketballs kept me swerving like a getaway driver. This was obviously a very tight-knight farming community, as people either followed me with cautious eyes or smiled and waved at me. After about 10 minutes, I saw someone biking the other way, and stopped to make sure I as going in the right direction. He said yes, and told me that the carretera central is just around the corner, which it was.

Slightly less smooth than the autopista, the carretera was still a ways better than the cratered dirt road I just passed - which, incidentally, would come back to haunt me soon. I came across a large, open-back people-carrying truck / bus, that was carrying many kids to school. The kids were taunting and/or cheering me on, so I decided to have a little fun and race with the truck. I managed to pass it for a while as it stopped to pick up / drop off passengers, but then it caught up to me - the kids were cheering like it was a baseball game, and I had a huge smile across my face, as did they. For no reason, I felt really happy all of a sudden.

I kept up the pace, playing hide-and-seek with the truck for a while, 2pac blaring on my headphones, not realizing how long or far I had been going. To the kids’ disappointment, the truck turned off onto a dirt road, and I raised my eyes to see the city limits of Cienfuegos only a few kilometers away - I had just covered 25 km in little over half an hour! I also hadn’t eaten anything, so I stopped off at a roadside cafeteria for some rice, pork and beans - and beer, of course. A side note - while I’ve always been something of a beer snob, having very pointless opinions on what kind of brew I drink, I’ve slowly fallen in love with Cuban beer. Cuba - known more for its rum and cigars than its beer - has several different styles of beer brewed all over the island - from the clean, refreshing Cristal to the stronger, malty Buccanero (gotta love the name), and always served very cold. I wish I could get some of it over here. Hey, Cuban export and trade ministry, you reading this?

I struck up a conversation with two thirty-something ladies (who, of course, looked younger than me), asking about Cienfuegos, its history, what to do, etc. I took down some notes in my moleskine, thanked them, and got back on the road. The first thing you see when approaching Cienfuegos from the northwest is the huge smoke chimney from one of its many factories. Once inside, though, you’d be forgiven for thinking that the city is very similar to Santa Clara - geographically, at least.

Symmetric streets laid out in the neoclassic style, and a town center with an expensive, ritzy “boulevard” nearby. While they have many points in common - like actually having street names printed at intersections - they also have a very distinct atmosphere. Cienfuegos has a certain air of “nobility” to it somehow. There is a palpable sense of pride - everyone walks with their hide held high, but without any air of superiority or condescension.

I pulled over to take out my notebook and look up the addresses of a few casas I was recommended - to find that I no longer had it! I had the list of all casas in that notebook, emergency numbers, and - most importantly of all - my travel journal! I was really, really upset. I biked around the city a bit to get my bearings, then finally came across two women sitting and talking in front of their house. I stopped and asked them if they new of any casa particulares around here, and they spent the next 10 minutes, walking with me, asking their friends, and finally getting me to a casa of a very nice family, not far from the town square.

The facades of these homes don’t look like much at all, but once inside, you’re greeted by a deep, sprawling estate, with high ceilings, open-air corridors, and beautiful architecture from many differents episodes of Cuban history. A similar home would easily go for over a million dollars somewhere else in North America.

And why oh why do all these casa owners always have gorgeous , twenty-something daughters?

I brought my bike in, and left it in the garage for most of my time in Cienfuegos - I ended up walking most of the city instead. Like Santa Clara, I felt comfortable and safe here. I was close to the town square, so spent a lot of time there on benches, writing (in a new, kindergarten notebook with frogs on the cover, that I bought from a state stationary store along The Boulevard / Paseo Del Prado), taking photographs, or people-watching.

I ate at the casa that evening, then went to bed early. The next day, after breakfast, I decided I was due for another day at the beach. I got my gear together, got on my bike, and cycled the mountainous but picturesque 20km to Playa Rancho Luna, a beach frequented by locals and tourists alike - although, on that day, mostly locals. The view on Cienfuegos’ bay from the high road is absolutely incredible.

It was nice to be surrounded by so many families and kids playing, and I met a young, re-married couple with a daughter that I spent the day talking to. The husband reminded me tremendously of one my uncles in California, and I bought them some drinks while we chatted.

After a few hours, the saltwater and sun started to take its toll on me, so I said my farewells and headed back to Cienfuegos, stopping at another roadside cantina for some pork and rice.

After a nice shower, I took a quick nap, then went for a walk before returning for a light supper. I was determined to go out tonight and get some music and rum in me (not necessarily in that order), so I went to “El Benny”, named after the famous Benny Moré, one of Cuba’s most famous singers, and a Cienfuegos local. It was a very nice looking place, although the music was the more traditional disco fare than anything you would hear from Benny Moré. I took a seat in the back near the terrace, when I overheard people talking English. I turned my head, and saw a group of Europeans - 2 guys and 3 girls - laughing about something. I asked if I could join them, and I spent the rest of night talking with these complete strangers about all sorts of stuff, as people came and went from our table and everyone wanted to get to know everyone. Two of the girls were Norwegian, and studying politics and spanish here in Cienfuegos for a few months. The others were Scottish and / or English, and were simply traveling around. One of the Norwegian girls caught my eye - until she started talking.

You know, when I was a kid growing up in the 80s, I always had the misguided belief that all Europeans are all some classy, elegant, cultured, perfectly educated group of superhumans compared to us North Americans. As I started traveling in my teens, I quickly realized this was far from being the case. The behavior of some Europeans I saw on this trip was quite colonial, and at times I felt almost embarrassed for them as they did or said very inappropriate things when in Cuba. Although, to be fair, a few of the Canadians I met weren’t much better (with some exceptions).

Anyhow… I got home around 3:30am, and fell asleep like a baby. I slept in the next day, of course. I spent most of it running errands, such as changing money or buying drinks for my ride to Trinidad tomorrow (tuesday). As I was sitting in the town center writing, a huge tour bus unloads a crowd of elderly white French tourists, and they quickly hurry to walk around the park, their hawaiian shirts nice buttoned and their camcorders and point and shoot camcorders ablaze. The sky has been grey and thundering here for at least an hour, but it still hasn’t rained.

A gorgeous young mother and her daughter are walking through the park, feeding rice to the pigeons. A few bright looking kids are running around, playing, occasionally asking one of the tourists from the bus for money.

I sat back here and enjoyed until the first drops started coming down, and went to bed early for my ride the next day.

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