Havana to Varadero then home

A stroll through the city with Pauline was like coming home as we encountered Alberto on the same corner we had encountered him on Day 1 in Havana. A trained architect, he had dreams of emigrating to somewhere he could ply his profession. In the meantime he was exchanging money and spruiking for tourist rides in Oldsmobiles.We had been to his apartment to exchange some money on our arrival. A lovely man. 

We joined the others who had been on a walking tour of Havana for a delicious three-course lunch at a restaurant on one of the main squares in Havana. A highlight were the frappe mojitos.

Arley asked us all what we had enjoyed about the ride and what we had learnt about Cuba. This made for a very entertaining listening exercise. It seemed that Cuba had wormed its way under our skin despite stomach troubles, broken limbs, potholes, heat and winds. Reading Graham Greene's Man in Havana doesn't let you feel it until it is in your body as well as your imagination.

Our final trip to Varadero a 25km of walled resorts, temporary homes to Russians and Canadians on holiday. What a different Cuba the resort presented. It was all you could eat buffets, all you can drink drinks, as much sun as it took to burn you brown and as much fun as you wanted to have.

The beach indeed was spectacular. Waves. Sunshine. Sand. Portuguese Men of War washed up. 

And from there we all drifted away, one by one. Until next time.

Back to where we began

We rode 10km out of Vinales where the bikes were put in the bus for the last time, The ride took yas thought the Valley of Silence which was very peaceful, verdant and productive.

We then walked through farmland for about 5kms to a tobacco farm where we saw the leaves drying, along with coffee beans and were treated to another cigar rolling exercise. This time Michael took a puff after dipping his cigar end in honey and rum. 

The farmer told us that he gives the government 90% of his crop and keeps the other 40% for private sale. This is of course illegal, but possibly the only way of eke out a relatively decent living.

More walking, this time to an eco-restaurant perched on top of a hill. Fabulous food and views over the valley and hills beyond. 

Then onto to the bus for our transfer back to Havana to the hotel we stayed in before. It was like a homecoming in a sense. We'd been on the road on our bikes and in the bus for almost three weeks and had circumnavigated Cuba, seen the various landscapes, the beautiful cities and coastal areas and the lifestyles of the farmers. We had been sung to and entertained with stories, trips to historical sights, food - good and not so palatable, and each other's stimulating company. The long hours in the bus were spent in discussions or sleep. Not a lot of reading as there was always something to look at from the windows as we travelled pretty slowly both on the bus and in the saddle.

Vinales

We rode from Soroa to San Cristabel which was about 60 km before we stopped at a hotel for lunch. Lovely cool place, good lunch and cold beer  before we jumped in the bus for a transfer to Vinales. The road we were on was very rough and very potholed so it was an active concentration to avoid veering off and falling over. Funnily enough I quite enjoyed the ride and was disappointed when we arrived at our stopping place for the day.

It was Saturday and everybody was out and about doing their shopping hanging out together young people in particular and of course the farm labourers were continuing to labour.

We were deposited at various casa particulares around the town. It was dark when we arrived to our place was very basic run by an old woman and her family. We had to ask for the generator to be kicked in,  in order to have a hot shower.

We walked to a very noisy restaurant for dinner which serve served absolutely excellent food. However, the wine was a bit costly at $44 US. Always good for alcohol consumption to have it limited by cost.

At the 40 km mark the bus pulled up and there was Pauline sitting next to our driver Joel. She had fallen off when waving to some children. I went with her on the bus to a hospital where she was given a painkiller and not much else because the hospital was in an appalling stage regarding everything that you would normally expect to find in a hospital. The absolutely filthy toilets had no running water there of course was no x-ray machine for Pauline to be examined and so we drove back to where the others were at the beach and joined them for lunch. The plan was to take Pauline to another hospital when we return to Vinales.

The next morning we set off to ride 60 km to a beautiful beach. The first 10 k’s was absolutely stunning as we rode through beautiful forest on gently up and down rises. The next 10 km was okay, but after that there were potholes the size of meteor craters everywhere on the road. It was an absolute effort of concentration and riding along that no more than about 10 km an hour.

Note the doctor's chair and notebook! At least she had a stethoscope and a blood pressure machine

We swam at the beach, but that was marred as well as Maureen was stung by a jellyfish. We were served huge pieces of fish and lobster, but I had certainly lost my appetite.

Back to Venus and Maureen took over the care of Pauline. They did not arrive back to our casa until 11:30 pm after visiting two hospitals, the last of which had an x-ray machine and confirmed a hairline fracture.

It was a strange way to finish what could’ve been a beautiful day.

Las Terrazas to Soroa

We rode a quick 30 km back the way we had ridden the day before then a long transfer to Las Terrazas where we arrived about 4.30 in the afternoon. 

Our lunch stop was rather special. It was on the side of the road and was sort of like a mini resort in a way. There was an open air restaurant selling hot food, cold food, any sort of food WITH condiments, as well as cold beers. And there were market stalls as well where you could buy various mementos of Cuba . 

On our arrival The hotel looked absolutely magnificent nestled into beautiful gardens and the architecture was superb. We climbed out of the bus and grabbed our bags with much excitement.

Check-in was not as smooth as it could’ve been and when Des and I were finally allocated our room we discovered it was about half a kilometre from reception down steps to a beautiful room with a stunning bathroom overlooking the forest, but not only was there no hot water,  it ended up there was no water at all. That was a bit of a problem for toilet flushing to say the least reception provided us with a 10 L bottle of water to use for the toilet, but that didn’t actually wipe away the grime of the day.

Apparently, this area of Cuba is unique in the government owns all of the houses and all of the people who live in them work in the park in which this hotel is situated. No one can buy in. I didn’t understand what happens when people die and how they get replaced as workers and dwellers.

Dinner however was perfect. We climbed down many many many more steps to a local house in the village where we were treated to home-cooked food as well as a five piece band that sang us through dessert and coffee. Then up the stairs and straight to bed.

In the morning after the weirdest breakfast we’ve ever been served. We took a bus trip up a hill to where there had been a coffee plantation owned by a man who had employed hundreds of slaves. The conditions looked absolutely awful. The present conditions weren’t beautified as the recent cyclone that had passed through Cuba had torn down trees everywhere and those still standing had lost their leaves.

Des at the coffee bean grinder

The distinguishing feature of this place were the vultures. There were scores of them hanging in trees or flying around.

We rode down the steep hill and visited Rio San Juan a marvellous place with cascading ponds and clear oxygen rich water. I climbed into my bathers and swam as I wasn’t intending to ride the hilly r
oads any longer. The gradient were about 17% and the potholes were more like fish ponds.

We arrived at Soroa and visited the Orchard Gardens. Again where we met with an excellent botanist with a great sense of humour and vast knowledge of the plants we then walked to a waterfall before going back to the hotel which had an enormous pool that we all took advantage of.

And our swim was followed by a long hot high pressure shower. Bliss.

Dinner at the hotel was shared with a large bus group of French tourists. I had some fun talking with them.

Played pool, had another mojito and went to bed a happy woman.

Cienfuegos to Playa Larga

Leaving Trinidad, as is often the case when leaving a city, requires intense concentration. It only took 15 minutes to get out of the city traffic which consisted of the vicious taxis, horses, horses and carts, bicycles, taxis, truck buses and so on. 

Once on the road, it was pretty quiet and we began the day in perfect temperatures with hills and flats, seafronts and bridges, and all was well, until an horrendous headwind  / crosswind arrived.

At the 42 km I succumbed and climbed into the bus along with most of us. It was only the four tough men who rode all the way.

We arrived at a Botanical Gardens for lunch and were met by Hilda,  a very knowledgeable botanist who took us on a guided tour for an hour or so and explained the various indigenous plants. There was an extensive arboretum with specimen trees from all over the tropics.

After awhile, we all got back in our bikes and rode into Cienfuegos with it, stunning French 19th century architecture, very flamboyant and grand we stayed in a Casa particulare right on the waterfront along the very narrow and long Peninsula that is the hallmark of the city. 

We didn’t venture out further other than to look at the sea. Dinner was in house and we climbed into bed early on, partly because the next day’s ride was 92 km in length.

Our destination was Playa Larga nestled in the Bay of Pigs, the site of the failed US invasion of Cuba. Before lunch we stopped at Playa Giron to go to a museum where all of the exhibits were about the invasion a number of Cubans of course got killed during that time at the Americans were repelled.

We arrived at Playa Larga in time for a swim in the shallow warm calm bay Waters. The beds were comfy in the shower was hot. Our dinner was on the beach on a table set up, especially for us and we enjoyed a talk from Frank a local wildlife and Flora expert.

During his talk a Stygian owl arrived which created much excitement for us as well as the birding group from Indiana who were well equipped with binoculars and so.

Such a barmy evening we stayed up late, drank too much and farewelled Angelika on her last night in Cuba.

Trinidad

We began with a 40km bus ride to Sancti Spiritus where we visited an embroidery shop that also entertained us wth dancing. Down side was that we began riding at 1.00pm in the heat of the day across teh plains and the valleys towards Trinidad. We stopped for a toilet break at a roadside cafe and were told that the owners waited 20 years for a licence to operate. 

Everywhere along our route were huge posters of Che and Fidel. Seems that Cubans need constant reminders of the glorious revolution in the same way that we endure huge signs advertising McDonalds. Added to the revolutionary billboards were reminders that Cuba weathered the Spanish invasion in the 1890s. 

Arley said that all government workers need to belong to the communist party. There's only one party, a characteristic of all communist states as far as I know, which makes the people's will a bit hard to listen to and act upon. He referred to the regime as socialism but it's certainly not socialist as the ordinary people are not being looked after. However it as clearly a command economy and by everything I have read, a corrupt government whose wealth knows no bounds while people eke out a living as best they can.

Cuba had a global reputation for education and health care once. Now, the hospitals are crumbling, there is no medicine or modern equipment; and the schools are dusty, cramped and poorly equipped. She of our riders gave stationery to kids we met along the way. Literacy is still extremely high however, measured at approximately 98%.

On our arrival in Trinidad we were treated to a lesson on cocktail making. Choices were mojitos and canchanchara. Yummo.

Our lessons didn't stop there. The next morning walked to a pottery factory/studio where we met the founding 82 year-old potter and got our chance to make a pot. Everything is prepared on site - clay, glazes and so on, and the walls of the large indoor/outdoor complex are lined with all manner of pots.

We were then joined by Trinidad's' bike shop owner and rider. He took us to his workshop; a few tools and pieces of equipment housed in his garage. In the sitting room he showed us some trophies and medals he'd won as a road racer.

From there we rode to a beach - Playa Ancon right past a waterway where flamingo and other water birds in residence. Lovely warm water, golden sand, palm trees waving in the breeze.. General lazing about in and out of the water, a packed lunch and a cold beer. Perfect.

Before dinner we walked up town to the old part of the city. Large and stately homes that wealthy families built along wide streets. Big open-air bars with musicians playing; horse-drawn carts waiting for passengers; people bustling around. Lovely city.

 

On to Palma Soriano - "The Mountain", Bayamo and back to Camaguey

We left Santiago in a cloud of diesel and other assorted fumes for a climb, climb, climb. At least the diesel fumes became less the further away from the city we rode.

We went to a church with the endearing name of Church of the Yellow Virgin where there was a pilgrimage of sorts going on, people resplendent in hues of yellow paying homage. Various prosthetic items had been left as thank you gifts from people who felt their prayers had been answered. The pile of armbands and stethoscopes was however a bit puzzling. Along the way to the church people sold bunches of huge sunflowers and other yellow flowers; other roadside stalls sold religious artefacts.

The diarrhoea that had been plaguing me since we set off from Havana was getting more serious and by the time we reached the church I was totally fatigued so stayed in the bus and slept until we reached our lunch spot in a dusty village. As per usual our packaged lunch contained twice as much as we could eat and so we usually distributed it to any locals who were nearby. 

Palma Soriano, nestled high in the hills, rain falling, waterfalls gushing and darkness descending we sat in a covered outdoor eating area for dinner. Joelle our driver took our bus slowly up hills, roads potholed and water running every which way.

I had previously ordered fish for dinner, Arley phoning the hotel ahead of time as we would be the only guests. Little did I know that the fish woudl be a can of not very good quality tuna in brine. Fortunately there was a cat prowling and I was most relieved the next morning to see it was still alive, failing to explode overnight from the generous helping of tuna.

After a plentiful breakfast the group set off for Bayamo, but not me, still recovering or trying to from the explosive diarrhoea. Since learning that mushroom cook, Erin Patterson suffered from the same complaint, I was careful not to wear white pants in case anyone suspected me of malingering. Our trip into the city to yet another stately hotel set on a spacious square, was by horse drawn and/or bicycle powered carriages built for two. I did feel very sorry for the bike rider who sweated Des and I to the hotel's front steps. A big ask on a hot day. 

I asked Arley to see a doctor as I knew this persistedt gut issue was not going away without the assistance of antibiotics. In time a woman doctor and a plump nurse arrived at the hotel and after examine me for all the life signs prescribed mango root juice. I swallowed the requisite dose and promptly threw it all up again in the bathroom sink. The doctor and the nurse apologised - no medicine available in Bayamao apart from herbal remedies. I later strolled to the pharmacy with the nurse. There was a billboard on the footpath advertising what was available and once inside I gazed at the dark timber shelving in this lovely old shop. Not one thing in store. 

Paul gave me his prescription for antibiotics which was a life saver as it turned out and enabled me to ride on. I'd already finished all my lomotil and most of everyone else's supplies. I was tired of a diet of bread and rice by that stage.

We began our 70+km ride back to Camaguey after a short bus transfer. Flat riding, hot, sunny. We rode through rich agricultural land with sugar cane, rice paddies, tomatoes - banana sellers on the sides of the road. Much physical and manual labour involved and some oxen as well pulling plough shares, guided by a farmer. Rice was drying i every flat space - front yards, on the verges, on the roads themselves. We rode beside the drying rice; chooks pecked at it, and bad luck if a horse dropped dung on it.

Heavy rain in the afternoon which made the sky come alive with rainbows. 

Scenes from Havana

Malecon during the day. Water splashes over the sea wall. It comes alive at night.

Straight off the plane and onto the Buena Vista Social Club performance. What a blast!

Havana by night.

Cars and cars

Holguin to Santiago de Cuba

We were late leaving Camaguey in the bus, so it gave us lots of time to check out the hotel's environs. A wide plaza with galleries, restaurants and the street sculptures. We began riding at about 1.30pm towards Holguin but we stopped at about the 32km mark as there were some serious hills on the potholed roads and it was getting darker, everyone back in the bus before nightfall. 

Our hotel was stately, but nevertheless the electricity went off again. It does go off every day in Cuba. A bit annoying for us as travellers, but much more annoying for those who want to live a life and make a living in this country. 

Leaving Holguin we had a short bus trip followed by a 63km ride up hill and down dale. I was very thankful that Ralph rode beside me pedalling up La Gloria and talked about movies. Took my mind off climbing and it worked - I got to the top without stopping.

Lunch was beside a sugar cane field and Arley broke off some cane and we sucked the sugar out.

Next, we visited Fidel Castro's father's home before arriving in Santiago de Cuba. He was described as an opportunist capitalist, unlike his more communist-minded son. The house had been reconstructed as it burnt down due to father smoking a cigar and leaving it unattended. There was the car, the bedrooms, the grounds and a lot more to take a look at and imagine a life lived there. 

We took the bus into the city on the south coast of Cuba and checking into our once amazing but crumbling hotel right in the middle of the city's square. After a shower, cold naturally due to power shortages, we set off for dinner and salsa dancing class. But not before we were treated to a cup of canchanchara, Cuba's oldest cocktail, a heady mix of Vitamin R otherwise known as rum, or perhaps it was fermented sugarcane juice, honey and lime. Served in a terracotta cup over ice we were encouraged to drink it straight down. Quite a blast. Especially for Des whose stomach reacted poorly to this guest. Poor Des. He missed dinner and the subsequent salsa dancing. 

Day 2 in Santiago was full of cultural activities including a walk through the hot and humid city, a trip to the garrison museum where we learnt more about the 1959 revolution  before going to a cemetery where Castro's ashes are entombed in a rock from the Sierra Maestre. The graves can be adorned with two flags: one Cuban and the other a black and red 26 flag signifying that the person, and perhaps their families, who lie below were part of the revolutionary forces.

We took the bus to an oasis for lunch - full of greenery, beautiful furniture and an outdoor kitchen where our food was cooked over coals. There was a coffee roasting and grinding demonstration as well as cigar making from tobacco leaves - quite an art. We were also treated to some music - a woman sang while her partner played guitar. Wonderful in every way. One of the men presented us with portraits of ourselves drawn with coffee before we tasted the local rum. That evening there was a huge thunderstorm. We went to bed and slept the night away.

Havana to Camaguey November 2024

 Cuba is a place that evokes political feelings, literary feelings and musical feelings. I use the word "feelings" as a way of encapsulating views that I have held, despite any evidence to do so. Arranging a bike ride in Cuba with my riding buddies? Yeah. Why not?

Who was there? Ralph from Albuquerque. Lady Al from Idaho. Nelson from Vancouver. Michael and Angelika from Germany. Paul from Nova Scotia. Des, Maureen, Pauline and myself from Australia. And our fabulous guide Arley, bike mechanic Guillermo and bus driver G from Cuba.

We began and ended in Havana, a three week bike ride plus all manner of cultural excursions. Bikes were supplied by a business, Cubania, that is based in the UK. The organisation was superb. Lucy from Cubania helped us plan a customised ride and organised for all our transport, accommodation, sightseeing and our fabulous three-person support staff.

We set off from Havana by bus after picking up our bikes and riding back into Havana along the famous Malecon, the waterfront where everything happens in Havana: fishing, nightlife, casual conversations between friends and strangers, embassies - or at least their remains, and and travelled to Santa Clara where Che Guevara was stationed and active during the 1959 Fidel Castro uprising against Batista. Stories of heroism, small forces with big strategies, a statue and other memorabilia from the time are dotted in the city.

Next stop was Camaguey, a spacious town of about 350,000 people. We rode into the town after visiting a communal farm at Sancti Spiritus with a few pigs, a few bits of farm machinery and not much else. The people are thin. This is observable all over Cuba. There is simply not enough food to go round. Apparently farmers are required to "sell" to the government 90% of their produce and keep the remainder. Doesn't matter what the percentage is that you keep, if it's not very much, it simply is still not very much.

It was in Camaguey that I discovered a rations store, and Arley showed us a ration book, neatly laid out month by month, that enables Cubans to obtain stapes such as chickpeas, meat, fish and other goods WHEN they are in stock. This store was selling minced up fish the morning of my visit and not much else.