Steven’s Cuba Blog

Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Ten

June 1, 2006 at 2:00 am | In Trip Report |

A MAGNILOQUENT MADNESS

Trinidad de Cuba, September 14th, 2005, 6:30pm



Founded in 1514 by Diego Velazquez, Trinidad runs on a different clock that anywhere else I’ve been. Actually, it runs on no clock; time feels to have stood still for eons here. A UNESCO world heritage city, it is nearly impossible to walk down a street or turn a corner without stopping to admire the detail in every little window sill, the workings of the streets cobbled with riverstones, or the sounds and smells of the salesmen traveling to and fro, selling their limes, eggs, fresh bread (really fresh and soft!) or what have you.

I quickly became friends with the family living in the splendid house. The maid / granddaughter of Mercedes, Yani, was incredibly gracious and accompanied me to the beach, the Casa de la Musica, and all around town.

/** (Plug)
Casa Mercedes
Mercedes Albalat Milord
Calle Josè Martì no.330 e/ Simòn Bolìvar y Francisco Javier Zerquera
Trinidad
Tel: phone and fax: 0419/3350
email: ico974 (at)lycos.it
*/

The town square is called Plaza Mayor. Because it’s a relatively small city, most of the action is within walking distance. Convenient to the Plaza, you’ve got the gorgeous XIXth century Iglesia Parroquial de la Santisima Trinidad (where a youth rock band plays in lieu of a choir) which is very, very full on Sundays, the Iglesia y Convento San Francisco, from whose tower you can grab some splendid shots of the town, the Canchanchara cocktail lounge (cradle of the drink with the same name), and the famous Casa de la Musica. Or - in my case - infamous.

I don’t dance. I also don’t smoke cigars. I do drink the rum, though. So one outta three ain’t so bad. But sitting down on those steps, words can’t describe how it felt, watching the perfectly coordinated dancers move as if their bodies were all connected by some complex gear mechanism. Cuban men regularly would prowl the staircase for foreign girls, eager to show off that their hips, also, do not lie. I was more than a bit jealous, daydreaming a little about getting on that dance floor and sweeping the crowd off their feet as I effortlessly twirl some beautiful cubanita around and around with a picture-perfect smile on my face. More likely, however, would be me falling flat on my face after somehow tripping over my own leg.

I need to take dancing lessons.

The general mood in Trinidad is very content, even festive. As everywhere else, the economy is slow, and most people you talk to here cite that as the main problem they’re facing. Compared to elsewhere in Cuba, there seems to be less discussion about ideology, politics and such. Conversations seem to turn more towards the pragmatic, the real problems people are facing today and the tangible solutions that they are taking to overcome them. I didn’t meet many pessimists in Trinidad.

The historical center is comprised of some unbelievable colonial homes, like the one I stayed at. Most have only a single floor, and they usually form around a single plaza within the block.

Staying nearby to where I was were two delightful young French sisters, who were only here for a couple more days. We quickly became friends, and along with a friend of the Casa owner’s son, we spent the next day horseback riding, hiking and swimming through Topes de Collante, the majestic virgin natural reserve north of Trinidad. The horses were a bit uppity, but I survived.

The hike to the waterfall was pretty trivial considering that I had done Mount Washington a couple times recently with my sister’s friends in addition to Mount Mansfield a couple years ago with some old acquaintances, so within less than an hour we were bathing in a clear, cold little lake, fishes trying to tickle us and all. Sounds kinda lame now that I read it, but it was awesome. It was also the first time I walked through so many conglomerations of butterflies, flapping all about and brushing up against me as if I wasn’t even there.

Like I said, I was only supposed to stay here for a few days, but I just couldn’t bring myself to leave. Besides, my bike’s panier was still in disrepair, so that was a convenient excuse to hit the beaches with Yani, stay up late talking to the French girls, and just generally wander around, trying to discover every nook and cranny of the place.

Eventually, I went to the tiny town of Casilda, a few kilometers away, and met Yani’s family who were all very very cool. Their house was recently struck by a hurricane, so the living room literally had a ceiling beam and debris instead of furniture.

I left early again sometime at the end of the week, though my bike’s condition left a lot to be desired - in fact, I’d soon have to discover the beauty of the Cuban ViAzul tourist bus system…