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. 

There was also an evocative collection of street art. Amusing and skilful.

It finishes where it began

 There is quite a difference between Belgium and the Netherlands. The most important difference for me is the bike riding infrastructure. Scattered and not very well designed or used in Belgium; prolific, populated and smooth throughout the Netherlands. I’ve not been able to overcome my tendency for serious caution despite bikes frequently having right of way as cycle paths in excellent condition snake both sides of roadways. Roundabouts, terrifying encounters elsewhere, have separated bike lanes and again, vehicles give way.

The population seem to be much less reliant on mobility aids and overweight people are definitely in the minority. I’m assuming this is due to daily riding to and from school, work and the shops. Oh, and age is no barrier.

From Charleroi we pedalled to Namur, a clean and bustling place right on the Meuse. Our accommodation was in the middle of the evening jollity, hundreds of people sitting outside in the warmth of early October.

We rejoined the cycle way along the Meuse, stopping in Huy for a coffee and cake. Bars are full of usually older men and women taking a morning beer.

Liege was especially vibrant. People everywhere enjoying themselves and lots of students kicking up their heels to celebrate the start of the academic year. If you’re in Liege, don’t miss the railway station. Coloured glass panels form the roof. It’s so much not like Southern Cross.

Rain was forecast so we took in the gallery before catching a train to Maastricht. We then rode onto Gulpen and visited the place where three countries intersect.

Our last day was from Gulpen to Maastricht where we dumped our stuff and rode out to Bokrijk to ride through water. This feature was provided by the Limburg area to encourage tourism.

So here we are, returned to Maastricht from whence we ventured out. We’ve ridden 1624kms. Not a bad effort. And let’s hope there’s further posts to follow.

The Belgian Leg

 We’re 1372kms into our five weeks of riding and have only been wet once. That was navigating the last 10kms to our Airbnb in Charleroi. Not a bad record.

From Reims we rode to Laon, the former capital city of France. Perched high on a hill it was satisfying to ride to our gorgeous hotel using battery power to reach it. Pierre our host bought the rambling house and gave it new life with style and humour. I lit a candle for Jo in Notre Dame.

Riding to Hirson the following day was our first real food desert experience. Not a soul stirred in the villages we rode through. The farms were more akin to Australian stretching across broad plains. 

Hirson was unremarkable. Gritty and somewhat grimy. 

Onwards to Mons, a busy city, also unremarkable. Life was generated by the city’s students who outnumbered the old, poor and the workers. 

Charleroi was meant to be an easy ride along a canal. Detours however saw us crisscrossing the water many times and the expected distance of 42kms lengthened to close to 70. 

What a dispirited city it is. Grime, rubbish, people doing it tough. Best thing is to leave. I can’t imagine the lives lived here are full of optimism, opportunities and joy. We did however find the small and beautiful gallery. Not surprisingly we were the only visitors bar one other. Des and I also watched the Grand Final, albeit on an iPad after shelling out $46 to the AFL for the privilege. Bit hard to soak up the atmosphere but Des is very happy to take the win.

A few more days on the road is all that remains. Soon I’ll get the hang of the e-bike.

From Chablis to Champagne

 After much discussion we decided not to partake in the 325€ per head tour and tasting in Reims, choosing instead some very smooth drops from the local Intermarché for 7 or 8€.

We arrived in Reims via Decathlon where I took the opportunity to replace my two pairs of incompetent nicks with two new pairs. I also found a new saddle seeing mine is cracking up. Funnily both nicks and saddle looked alright in the winter light of Maryborough.

We’re riding back to Maastricht rather than going further and training back. Getting a loaded bike into and out of several trains and negotiating a ride through Paris didn’t appeal. Besides, Liz, John and I have ridden up the Champs Élysées and round theArc de Triomphe so we don’t need to do it again.

The country, although still growing maize, sunflowers and grains has changed as have the villages. Greater prosperity is evident every where. Nevertheless village life is ghostly as we rarely see the inhabitants. One place we rode through must be the cabbage capital of France. Field after field, tractors, trucks and conveyor belts, then no more. We did dine on cabbage that evening, however ours was from a can in the “regional specialties” section of the store.

I’m always on the lookout for Wildlife. I’ve noted myriad grey herons along the canals, the ubiquitous corvid, a couple of squirrels and a dead badger. A gaudy kingfisher with its orange underbelly and turquoise wings flew along part of a canal as I trundled behind it. Cattle, sheep in small numbers, donkeys, horses, chooks, geese, goats and ducks watch as we pass by. And dogs bark a welcome, or is that a warning?

We’ve travelled 1098kms in sunshine and now cooler temperatures. We’ve had one flat tyre and a fair bit of skirmishing arriving in and departing from cities. Spirits are high and there’s a little smugness as we navigate our way along canals, country roads and the odd goat track. It’s fun to spend hours each day outside observing how the world ticks over.