Out of Havana
Traveling to Baracoa, Cuba
Even though Cuba is very inexpensive — rooms at real nice casas particulares for $25-$30 a night, breakfast for $4 — shit happens and the amount you brought is gonna be barely enough. For Americans, cash withdrawals at ATMs or banks are still unavailable, so you have to bring in what you need. Case in point: the bus from Santiago to Baracoa is sold out. So instead of $15 the trip is gonna cost me $150 by taxi (which isn’t all that unreasonable considering the distance but not what I expected).
I can only hope I can get a seat on the bus the way back or I’m gonna have to get by on $15/day — which is totally possible because my rooms are paid for (via airbnb before I left the US), but I was trying to avoid that. Makes excursions to nearby sights quite a challenge. Much rather have $35/day. But I guess that’s why I budgeted $55/day. THANKS OBAMA.
Arrived in Baracoa. That’s a hell of a ride through the mountains. And before that, the most beautiful scene of distant mountains running into the sea. Of course I didn’t get a shot because I wanted to get closer but then the road went left into the mountains and I missed the shot but that’s not my thing to shoot anyway. I have the memory, though, and it’s vivid as fuck.
My room is quite nice, with my own terrace overlooking the little harbor full of anchored fishing boats. Went out looking for food. Baracoa supposedly breaks the Cuban crappy food rule. We will see. It hasn’t started out well as the restaurant is playing terrible music. I mean, we’re in Cuba. It makes it especially egregious. The taxi driver played good music, thank Ché.
After pretty much constant rain for a day and a half, I got what I wanted: no sun but no rain and I found paradise. Walked past the stadium along a path that runs along the beach until it turns inland a bit. There, over a too bouncy for comfort steel cable and wood plank foot bridge crossed the Río Miel. Nice friendly people on the other side, which is a nature preserve of stunning beauty. The kind with houses and flowers, tamed beauty but stunning nonetheless.
I was directed by a couple of nice folks to my ultimate destination, Playa Blanca, a tiny sand beach fronted by tide pools in what looks like volcanic rock but that might just be my imagination or ignorance. Very craggy with sharp edges. Need water shoes. Reminds me of Italy. Now, the beauty in the distance is truly spectacular. El Yunque, the giant flat top mountain looming over Baracoa, with other mountains falling off into the sea. An amazing place. I get it.
Another day. More rain. Walking and walking and the sun came out. For real, finally. So I’m thinking I should’ve done a tour to the nearby national park. But then as I walked past this farm house I heard a voice call out in English, Hi! Where are you from? Espera! This girl and boy, both about 10, come running out to the road. We talk. The girl asks if I would like a coffee. Sure. I walk to the farmhouse, greeted by a lovely young mother and baby, a very nice grandma and grandpa, where I was served a coffee. After I was done I offered $5 CUC and asked if I could take pics around their idyllic little farm. The lovely young mother (I think she’s the aunt of the boy and girl) approached while I was changing film and asked if I wanted agua de coco. I was thinking before I came upon the farm, as the sun beat down, how I should’ve brought a bottle of water, but it all worked out with that cold sweet agua de coco brought to me by her father.
I said goodbye and headed further toward Duaba, where Maceo landed in 1895 (it’s interesting how much the nationalist revolutionary heroes celebrated here are people like Martí, Maceo, and Moncada, heroes from the 1890s rather than the 1950s — other than Ché). On the way off in a clearing there was a bridge over a fast moving river as it emptied into a bay. I went over the bridge, looked back toward another stunning view, and a young man in a little shack waved and said Hi. I asked him what he did here and he explained he’s a fisherman, drawing in the sand how he sets up nets to catch these little fish (tiete? — the fish I had in the restaurant with the terrible music). This is why walking around Cuba aimlessly is such a good deal. I’ll have future trips for organized excursions.
There is something very Gabriel García Márquez about this place. The neighborhoods full of interesting characters against backdrops in every direction, everywhere you turn, of stunning lush natural beauty. The people here know their home is special. I get a feeling that it takes the edge off quite a bit. If you have to struggle in your daily life, wouldn’t you rather do it in paradise?
Went to Santiaguero Restaurant on Céspedes — a literal hole in the wall with seven chairs along a narrow counter in a space no more than six feet wide — and it was the best meal I’ve had in Cuba, which isn’t saying much at all but it was really good. The classic pounded until it’s sort of tender piece of beef but perfectly seasoned and on a bed of marinated roasted vegies, with salad and rice and beans Cuban style, and some sort of hush puppy thing I think made with plantains that’s really good, with a jugo de piña and cerveza for $3.50 plus tip.
Went to Santiaguero again the next day. Had grilled fish, cooked and seasoned perfectly, served with bananas (fantastic). Fresh ingredients! Easily my favorite restaurant in Cuba. Then had a mojito. Naturally, the best mojito I’ve ever had — not too strong, great flavor, with the sugar crystals not completely dissolved. They asked if I wanted more rum in it but it was just right. They pay attention to details here. Really, really good.
The first time I went out to the baseball stadium it had kids playing soccer, a father and his little kids flying kites, people running laps, and a boxer and his trainer working on combinations. A trippy place. The surf is literally right down the left field line. This time a real baseball game. Arguments over balk calls. Barefoot leftfielder taking a piss during a pitching change. Bases loaded clearing gapper with a close play at the plate. Slick stab at third. All in the rain and mud.
Back to Santiago — in a taxi, which is a late 50s Chevy station wagon with a roof rack. Only $20 x I guess about 9 people. So off into the mountain rain forest. Just wild how we go from palms and banana plants to pine trees in less than 30km and then 30km back down the other side, we’re in coastal desert with these large cacti, and a little further along chaparral that reminds me of California. Wow. This is somewhere near the US Guantanamo naval base / prison, which thankfully I didn’t think of while going past.
Hopefully, sometime soon that place will be shut down and the land will revert back to Cuba.
