Welcome to Vinales, Pinar de Rio, Cuba

Cameron

Cameron and I met our traveling companion Roberto (from Vancouver)in Havana on November 14^th and made plans to travel to the most westerly side of the island called Pinar de Rio. We hired a taxi to take us from Havana along the coastline to Vinales, a small town set amongst the rolling tobacco hills of Cuba.

The taxi ride was a bit harrowing as the Cuban roads (much less travelled) are full of pot holes and dodgy road conditions. The highways are nearly deserted at every time of day, mainly because Cubans can’t afford cars and even if they could the American trade embargo doesn’t allow the import of vehicles. Fifty years ago, there were more cars per capita in Cuban than in any country in the Western Hemisphere. Today the roads are eerily quiet.

The cab, a Russian Lada, had no springs in the back seat compounded by bumpy road conditions and constant swerving to avoid potholes, so needless to say the ride was not very relaxing, but the scenery was quite beautiful. We promised to buy the cabbie lunch as part of our deal as so he stopped in a small village and we ate at one of the Cuban restaurants, where tourists are typically not allowed.Rob was excited as he was getting a hell of a deal for a bowl of spaghetti for only 20 cents Canadian, he couldn’t have been happier or prouder. Cameron stayed outside and kept watch on the car and the luggage. I sat quietly and ate my pollo and beans and listened to them chatter in Spanish. I have managed to pick up a number of words and phrases and the more I listen to Rob the more I can understand.

Anyways, we traveled on to Vinales and the scenery was spectacular mountainous vistas of greenery. When we arrived in Vinales, we supposedly had a reservation, but once again there was no record of it, so the three of us ventured out on the streets with our bags.It wasn’t long before we were accosted by Casa owners and before you know it we were swept up in a taxi cab that took us to a tiny house with a backyard full of chickens and pigs. The Casa owner was a nice enough family living in a three bedroom home. The problem was there was eight of them and only three of us and yes, only three bedrooms. Hmm, I was doing the math.As the night wore on, the eight of them filtered into the bedroom at the front of the house. I was feeling horribly guilty, like I was intruding on the family, but had to remind myself that this was their business. So, off to my room I go and lay down on the bed that felt like a bag of dry cement and the pillow was like a miniature bag of cement. Uggh! I close my eyes… what’s that smell? A heavy sewage smell is seeping through the bathroom door.

It is nights like these where I again go back to counting the days on the calendar. Tomorrow is another day. The morning came early—too early–4:00am. Que the roosters, the pigs and the dogs, a domino sound effect and it is a barnyard menagerie of howling, crowing and snorting–a contest to see which species can outdo the other. Cameron and I started to laugh hysterically probably from lack of sleep. Feeling horrible, my back aching I request a pot of café con leche to kick start the day and some toothpicks for the eyes. So, we pack our bags and start looking for another place. We found some great places to stay and I have provided recommendations below. Pinar del Rio, was for me, the most beautiful part of Cuba. We rented scooters and toured the small towns and countryside. We stumbled across interesting places and people and thanks to Rob’s Spanish, were able to experience the people and parts of the countryside that would not have been possible on our own.

On one such scooter trip through the countryside, we found an old thatched roof cottage surrounded by fantastic surrealist and modern art sculpted from wood and concrete. Rob was able to converse with the woman of the casa, who invited us to tour her home and yard. We learned that they were Santería, an an Afro-Caribbean religious tradition.
Her husband, the artist, was pouring a concrete cast of a female nude into the ground. He then started to relate his impressions of each of us, both past and present, like he was clairvoyant. I might say frighteningly accurate. He had a cross shaved into his chest to ward off evil thoughts. I guess… whatever works!

We left them some Convertible Pesos and jumped back on our scooters. Our voyage tour took us past the most beautiful countryside I have ever seen, with barely a car in sight only oxen driven wagons, horses, small thatched roof houses, fields of meringue and tobacco drying huts. Everyone was smiling and waving at us as we drove by on scooters. One word that kept coming to my mind was simplicity–such uncomplicated lives, poor yes, but simple. This is the premier tobacco growing country in the world for cigars.We took many of the roads less travelled see what we could see and stumbled across a non tourist sanctioned tiny cigar factory that was like stepping back in time to another century.Clearly the people were very uncomfortable with our presence, so we asked for a quick photo and left. It was a perfect black and white time stamped photo and a visceral experience of aging tobacco leaves, wooden tables filled with sweaty laborers rolling premium cigars for the imperialists they are all programmed to loathe.