Unsurprisingly, there are numerous guide books for the independent traveller to choose from and countless books on Cuba’s rich history, although time period and subject are predominated by the revolution and the people who took centre stage in this act.

There is however a significant amount of literature originating from Cuba and also by visitors to it’s shores. The books which interest me the most are those about the people. It may be true to say that the revolution helped shape the Cuba of today, but it is the Cubans of today who will shape it’s future. Only by catching a glimpse into their lives is it possible understand the decisions they will make tomorrow. I feel that Cuba is in the throes of change and it is the people, like those I met during my three weeks there, that are part of this change and are shaping what will be Cuba 20 years from now. 

I am no literary expert and I don’t claim to have read widely on the subject of Cuba. However, I thought I might start to make a list of some books on or about Cuba that I hope I will get round to reading and may be of interest to others…

If you have read a book on Cuba which you feel deserves a mention, why not leave a comment with the title, author and a brief synopsis.I will endeavour to collate them together.

I will start the list with one book I can highly recommend, which I read while in Cuba having chanced upon it in the airport bookshop having just checked in my bike:

Cuban Literature

Enduring Cuba – Zoe Bran

To be continued….

Cycling…

Cycling is a fantastic way to see a country. You can go anywhere you want in your own time, without having to fit in with bus timetables.

The bike is more than just a mode of transport – you can get to places others can’t, meet local people and see the country from their perspective, rather thank speedily passing from one tourist site to the next.

… And Everything Else

I didn’t want to spend excessive hours cycling when there are some many other ways to pass the time. Of my 3 weeks in Cuba, only a few hours a day on 10 days were spent cycling. There was still not enough time to do everything else I wanted, but I did fit in a few things – horse-riding, scuba-diving and photographing to name a few.  I spent many hours simply meandering through towns and an equal number of hours sipping mojitos watching life continue around me. Then when it got dark, there was the music and dance that Cuba is famous for.

Journal Extracts

The day-to-day journal entries are more or less the notes I wrote while on holiday. I never intended to publish them at the time, just to note some things I saw or did as reminder to myself. However, they may provide interesting reading to one or two people and so I’ve added them to this site.

Photography

Cuba, it has to be said, is a photographer’s paradise. There are so many iconic images which originate from Cuba – be it the face of Che or simply the vintage Chevolets and Cadillacs to name just two. I hope the photos provide some insight into the country and liven up my otherwise brief journal entries.

Trip Notes

There are of course numerous resources available to help with trip planning. But for those going to Cuba, information tends to be dispersed and its reliability not always known. Perhaps it was my lack of planning, but there were several things that I was not entirely clear about. I’ve tried to clarify some of it here and hope that any fellow travellers heading to the Cuban shore may find this information useful.

Cerveza and ‘Son’

‘Currently sipping another ice-cold cerveza listening to live ‘son’ music. Admittedly it’s a very touristy bar, but that is in fact providing me with the most amusement. Fortunately, I managed to persuade the token old Cuban geezer at the bar that I didn’t want to dance right now, but maybe later (he doesn’t know how much later) – and he’s now found another unsuspecting lass to dance with.

So yes, slowly, las tourisiticas are getting up to dance – they’ve clearly had some lessons because they’re all trying out their moves – but really – white people can’t dance!’

Ok, so back to the start of the day…

Rules and the Clock

Once again, up fairly early to get on the bike before it’s too hot – I’m turning into a bit of a stickler for routine it seems, or maybe I always have been and have never noticed in my life that’s ruled by the clock and well, rules and obligations – getting up for work, like so many others in the UK with their 9-to-5 desk jobs. In the UK, when you’re going about you weekly routine, you forget that the majority of the world’s population, many Cubans included, don’t know such a thing as ’9-to-5′ or ‘desk job’.

The Three Amigos

Only a few km’s out of Sancti Spiritus and I sense someone cycling up next to me… surely that’s not possible (the momentum gained with a loaded bike while pedalling downhill is significant). But yes, I looked over and there was a young Cuban (16 it turns out) kitted out in lycra, spd’s, racing bike – from Italy no less – the whole shibang.

And moments later, there wasn’t just one of them, but three!

Clearly they could pedal much faster than me – they were young, extremely fit, used to the heat, had bikes for the job and no luggage -they were just out on their regular training ride.

For the next 30km mas o menos, they rode beside me chatting away…. my responses being ‘no entiendo’ mostly, but it didn’t seem to matter. Initially I kind of hoped they would continue on past  and leave me in peace to enjoy the scenery, but that wish didn’t last long.

I lost momentum as the downhill turned into a slight incline and I rapidly slowed as the hill got steeper. Next moment, a force on my back, which initially unbalanced me, soon made the pedalling much easier and I begin to pick up the pace again. Julio, the youngest and so probably most enamoured of the three, had cycled over and proceeded to push me all the way. ‘Brilliant! I can make the most of this,’ I thought.

After several miles, which literally flew by,  I started to feel a little guilty – I was clearly slowing these guys up from their training. I thanked them for their company and helping hand, and told them to go on without me. They weren’t having any of it, and I soon shut up as we started on the next incline.

I did however need a break, to top up my water and have breakfast. So I stopped in the next small town to do just that and take some photos, while my three amigos pedalled on through. I felt a little sad to be leaving them as I rather enjoyed their company.

Feeling refreshed, I hopped back on the bike and as I was leaving town, who emerged from a shady cluster of trees but my Cuban biking buddies. And off we cycled together until they reached their target and turned round, leaving me to finish the ride to Trinidad alone.

Jinetero Encounter

Needless to say, with the company and help up the hills meant I got to Trinidad in very good time – even stopping for photos and a short detour to the Torre de Ignaza for some wonderful views.

While trying to find the casa I was accosted by my first jinetero, although I didn’t realise it until the casa owner Odalys came out onto the street, saw me and shooed him away with the threat of la policia being made.

Following a warm welcome, a glass of fresh juice and a shower I headed into Trinidad for a wander. It’s not a large town and it has a friendly atmosphere, although there are more tourists here than any of the other towns I’ve passed through in Central Cuba.

English-speaking friends

Upon wandering through the ‘casco historico’, I chanced upon a small museum and although not particularly informative, it did have a bell tower which I climbed up and was rewarded with some great views of the town and surrounding hills. While up the bell tower, I also bumped into an Aussie couple and a Californian couple. This was my first encounter with English-speakers since my first night in Havana. Fantastic – my Spanish left a lot to be desired and although I could understand a reasonable amount, I was certainly struggling with the distinct Cuban dialect.

I arranged to meet up with my new-found friends for drinks later. That’s one of the things about travelling – you don’t need to have much in common with someone to get on well – just having an interest in seeing the world  is enough, and having a common language in a foreign country is even better.

Sunset Vista

Back in the bar watching the white tourists definitely not looking good on the dance floor, it wasn’t long before i was joined by the old geezer who had been trying to get me to dance. It wasn’t long after, and I was joined by a number of other old men who had been sitting at the back, enjoying the entertainment provided on the dance floor. No more fly-on-the-wall for me, I was well and truly part of the scene, and so finished my beer and made a quick exit.

On leaving the scene, I ran into the Aussie couple who were about to enter to that same bar I had been fleeing from. Instead of a bar, we headed up the back streets, out of the old town to the ruins of an old 18th century Spanish military hospital for the view over Trinidad at sunset.

A beautiful end to a beautiful day.

Another Plaza, another bench

Once again, sitting and chilling in another plaza – La Plaza Maceo in Sancti Spiritus this time. I think this time I will have this bench to myself – all but the small part I’m sat on is directly in the sun – it’s still incredibly hot out, even at 4.30pm.
              

Unfortunately I wasn’t up so early today so left later than hoped, so having cycled through the midday sun and clearly not re-applied the suncream often enough, I’m radiating heat from my cheeks which even the fan on full blast in my room couldn’t help cool me down.

Sancti Spiritus may be bigger than Remedios but presumably it’s not on the tourist route as I’ve yet to see another camera-wielding, baseball-cap-wearing foreigner.

Tired Legs

Cycling was tough going to start, the third day on the bike and I think the legs are starting to feel it. It seemed to take forever to get to Zulueta – so long in fact, I stopped to ask a lady waiting for a truck if I was going the right way.

However, once I made it to Zulueta it was no time before Placetas and then the rest of the 50km was easy. I think the badly rutted road on a slight incline was the main source of my pain at the start.

Up and Down… and Up again

Out of Placetas, it was one long straight road for miles. It just went up and down, up and then down again. Each time, I thought I would stop at the next ‘top’ in the shade, but when I got there, there never was any shade. A few trees would appear at the bottom, but not wanting to lose my momentum I’d keep going on towards the next ‘top’. And so it went on for a while – a long while it must have been – before I applied the brakes, sat in the shade, ate and applied the sunscreen.

Re-energised, in no time at all, I passed through Cabaguain and La Aurora (where I got side-tracked by ‘un helado’ – who can resist a refreshing, cold, mini ‘Mr Whippy’ when they’re only 1 peso) and then into Sancti Spiritus.

So here I am in Sancti Spiritus. The casa (Hostal Paraiso) was easy to find, the owner understands my spanish (if you can call it that), I had a lovely cold shower and headed out to wander round town.

Baseball – A National Obsession

In every town I’ve stopped in so far, you don’t have to walk far before you come across two or three ‘chicos’ with a baseball bat and ball – the boys in this town even have the gloves. Unlike in Santa Clara, where the kids didn’t even have a proper ball – instread using a taped up ball of paper – which seemed to bounce surprisingly well – full marks for ingenuity and creativity!

Santa Clara to Remedios

Today I cycled from Santa Clara to here in Remedios.

Up early for some pics of the main plaza before heading off on the bike. It’s an easy 47km meaning I make it to Remedios before noon (11am) and before the stinking heat – well the heat that makes me sweat and stink!

Dirty Old Trucks

The main road gently undulated all the way, making for a pleasant ride – in between the black-smoke emitting, oxygen sapping, lung-filling decrepit old trucks that occasionally pass which are followed shortly after by the warm blast of dry air which just when you’re trying not to gasp for air and avoid suffocation, tries its damnedest to push you in the other direction and make you pedal harder.

But apart from those trucks, it really is good cycling in Cuba – well, based on my first 2 days.

In actual fact, the skank old trucks are in a minority on these roads. Much more common, is to be passed by an old buick transporting the whole family into town, or more common still to pass a horse-drawn cart or mulatto on an old rusting bike.

‘El Mulatto Serios’

Having said that, there was one old chap on a bike who gave me a run for my money (or peso that is)… on the road into Santa Clara. I was storming past him on a long downhill, having gained significant momentum (due to muchas cosas on the bike rack, before you suggest anything else) one moment, and the next, he was back beside me.

Well I wasn’t having any of that…. shift a gear, move those legs a little faster….great we’re level. I looked over to give a smile and ‘hola’, but he was looking dead straight ahead, dead serious, not even a shifting glance across. ah – ruin all my fun!

Well, the last 1km into town was fast, with ‘el mulatto serios’ beside me all the way.

Enough of that and back to the horse-drawn carts and rusting old bikes….

Horse-Drawn Carts and Rusting Old Bikes 

It’s strange in a way how normal the sight of a horse-drawn cart, rusting bikes and the like seem round here…. It’s a little like going back in time. The fields are even ploughed by oxen still – although there are some tractors around. Very old, small, and yes you’ve guessed it… rusting tractors, that would only be found in a museum or scrap heap back in the UK. Actually, I’m not sure you could even find them there.

It’s hard to tell how close to the poverty line people here really are – poor undoubtedly, but on the face of it, there’s enough to go around and few people are truly suffering. Indeed there are many people here in the towns who seem reasonably well off, and there’s a lot to envy about the slower pace of life here. Although, as with anywhere at any time, the grass is always greener on the other side and I doubt many Cubans would think the same way.

Interestingly, I’m reading a book written by a Cuban currently – ‘The Dirty Havana Trilogy’, by Pedro Juan Gutierrez. It’s set in Havana (no surprises there) in the 90′s, right around the time of ‘el periodo especial’, a 5-year period of rationing and seeming hardship – it paints Havana life in a dimming light that is hard to imagine having wandered around the tourist sites with the obligatory tour bus and camera toting whites (which needless to say, I fit the category, well, less the tour bus and less white, more ‘pink’ after a few days of sun and not enou,gh factor 25!).

A Refreshing Beer

So I’m sat outside El Louvre, on the plaza in Remedios, sipping at an ice cool cerveza, watching la vida Cubana in front of me.
   

A pretty square, with hardly any tourists, none in fact except for a french family who sat next to me temporarily (wielding the LP guide – which reminds me, I should bin if it weren’t for the maps).

And it seems I’ve been befriended by a little old dog, who since I rocked up in the plaza has sat down only a yard or two from me every time I stop. Which would be quite sweet if it wasn’t a flee-ridden mongrel stray just hanging around waiting to cop it.

Back on my first day in Cuba, I was conversing with a sympathetic Havana taxi-driver. In my rusty Spanish I explained that I was going to spend the next few days cycling round Central Cuba; from Cienfuegos to Santa Clara and then to Remedios… and so on. His response was not at all what I expected. I didn’t catch every word he said, far from it. But I understood exactly what he was saying. Unaccustomed to the Cuban dialect there were two words which clearly rang out – ‘Dangerous’ and ‘Bandits’.

What? Bandits?! I had not read anything about bandits. Cuba was supposed to be one of the safest countries to travel through, even for a single, white female. This taxi driver was having a laugh at my expense. I questioned him again. He was adamant that in Central Cuba, especially on the main road out of Cienfuegos, I would encounter bandits and they would leave me with nothing but the clothes on my back.

‘What have I got myself into?,’ I thought. 

So there I was in Cienfuegos, up early for some breakfast with my panniers all ready packed. The Havana taxi-driver’s warning had already faded and I was raring to take to the Cuban roads…

…But bandits? Surely not. I couldn’t quite shift that thought from my mind.

Well if I did meet bandits, I figured I’d give them my stuff. So what if they took my bike and camera? I could still sunbathe on a beach and drink mojitos – that wouldn’t make for such a bad holiday. I just hoped they’d let me keep my clothes I had on. The thought of reporting a hold-up and theft starkers made me cringe. And if not the clothes, at least the suncream – one little white body would soon be glowing pink in the Cuban sun. 

Oh sod it, ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’. And off I cycled.

Uneventful Cycling

Now contrary to the Havana taxi drivers concerns, I made it safely to Santa Clara without losing all my belongings to bandits.

In fact, nothing of notable interest or consequence occurred on my first days ride.

Except – it was hot. 

The road from Santa Clara passed through Palmire, Cruces and Ranchero – small towns – each separated by what can only be described as farming country. The people out here really don’t have much. It made me wonder how much good ‘La Societe Communista’ has done.

Safe In Santa Clara

I spent the afternoon on a short tour around a tobacco factory, seeing first hand how the cigar industry operates and then headed to the Che Guevara monument (memorial and museum).

After a tiring day, I returned to the casa for a siesta. It was good to get out of the sun.

That evening, I dined at the casa. Once again, a veritable feast. Even after cycling 70km, I could only consume half of what was served. It was delicious and I devoured platefuls – until the Monty Python sketch of Mr Creosote flashed into my mind. At this point, I thought it best to politely thank the casa owner for the lovely meal and investigate what was happening in town.

I strolled to the plaza again where there were signs that there would be music later on. I took a seat on one of the empty benches, sat back, relaxed and enjoyed the cool, fresh evening air. My peace was soon disturbed. It seemed that I had chosen the most popular bench to sit on. Several others remained empty, but my bench now homed seven bottoms of varying sizes. It didn’t matter though. We all chatted and laughed. You don’t have to speak the same language to understand one another. Being together, seeing and experiencing the same things has far more meaning.

Glancing around, I seemed to be the only white person here. Santa Clara isn’t high on the list of Cuba tourist destinations I guess. That’s fine by me though – it’s a lovely town – and what is one person’s loss, is another’s gain.

The music began; we all went for a closer look and soon the bench was empty again.

Having stocked up on pesos (was slightly concerned my credit card may not work but needn’t have worried) and fruit I cycled to the bus terminal – a rather long detoured route that had me sweating profusely in the Havana heat.

I’d asked for directions from the casa owner who had helpfully told me the easiest route. Only problem was I missed the first turning. I carried on regardless and figuring I could get there easily enough just following my nose. I was like a moth that circles closer and closer to the light source. Inevitably, I eventually arrived, sunburnt and my clothes drenched in sweat, ready to collapse in a heap.

Fortunately, having to arrive an hour in advance gives plenty of time to wash and change tops and generally look more presentable, smell less and stop sweating, which I’m sure my fellow passengers appreciated.

[Mental note to self - exertion, however slight, should be avoided during the midday swelter.]

Cienfuegos

After 4 easy hours of staring out of the window from the cool, air-conditioned bus, I arrived in Cienfuegos.

The casa owner in Havana had kindly called up another casa owner in Cienfuegos and made a reservation for me. With the name and address on a scrap of paper, I reassembled my bike and luggage in preparation to go in search of ‘Casa de Julieta’. As I attempted to make my way through the group of Cubans assembled at the exit, I heard my name being called by an old hombre with an equally old bike, who quickly escorted me through the crowd and on to the casa - a gorgeous colonial building with huge room and pretty courtyard.

I received a warm welcome and agreed to dinner at 7.30. Great – Enough time for wandering round town.

The Jose Marti plaza was lovely, surrounded on all sides by stunning architecture, most notably, the clock tower and the gran teatro.

   
I then went for a stroll down the Malecon – a 3km stretch out of town, which came to a rather disappointing end although the walk itself was pleasant enough. Feeling a little lazy, I got a bici-taxi back.

As I walked away from the plaza and caught the last glimpses of the bell tower, I noticed the buildings were run-down and weathered. The socialist slogans remained prevalent though.

Festival of the Shrimp

At dinner I was introduced to Cynthia – an American who was working at the university – and later went with her and Julieta to the Gran Teatro for the last night performance of a week long culture festival.

The music was amazing and by last performance, everyone was joining in – clapping along, singing, even dancing. It ended, rather surreally, with a carnival-type parade led by a shrimp. Not entirely sure I understood what it was about, but apparently it ended with the town procession waving the shrimp off to sail in a boat. Surreal!

Julieta clearly thought I had an appetite to compare to a small island nation and so dinner was lovely, just way too much even for me and the sandwiches she made for my lunch the next day would have been enough to open a small deli/snack bar!

El Capitolio

Firstly to El Capitolio – a grandiose building – and my first encounter which resulted in me parting with some pesos.
 It’s pretty obvious, I was just a bit slow at the time having only flown in the day before.  

But when some lady showed me into this off-limits room, which in fact was not that amazing (but it did include the original phone from 1929 – wow!), it was only moments later that the word ‘tips’ echoed round the chandeliered and mirrored room.

Museo de la Revolucion

Next stop, el museo de la Revolucion for some history (and spanish practice). 

Bus tickets and taxis

Then I tried to buy a bus ticket for the following day – now that was fun!

No, you can’t buy one from the infotur place (LP wrong again), but have to go to the Viazul terminal. Challenge of the day – how to get there?

I started walking, hoping to be accosted by a taxi/bici-taxi but to no avail – amazingly. Eventually, I did get a bici-taxi, but we clearly weren’t speaking the same language. I soon ended up on the Malecon – definitely not near the terminal.

Here I did find a taxi-driver (some guy who owned a car at least) who did speak my language. Great. Now I know I was ripped off, but at least he got me to the right place, waited for me to buy a ticket and then took me to the plaza de la Revolucion.

Plaza de la Revolucion

This is the square where huge rallies were held during the 60′s and on special occasions even now is used for public speeches by Castro. The tall landmark rising up from the plaza to the sky is the Jose Marti Memorial.

By now I was feeling a tad peckish so got some moneda nacional and bought some snacks (I think I have a few too many cuban pesos for the trip though).

Old Havana

After some R&R back at the Casa waiting for the midday heat to fade, I headed back out to Habana Vieja. After a little stroll I happened upon Plaza Vieja and more importantly, a bar – the only bar with a brewery in Havana. Great beer, decent music and kebabs for dinner.

Back for a early night, where I met a Canadian couple at the Casa.