Cuba travel article, freelance travel writer sample Trailfinders UK

Cuban tales of the unexpected

Bouncing along the road towards Havana airport, the sultry beat of rumba crackling through the taxi speakers, it was time to pore over my pixilated frenzy of Cubana highlights.

There I was exploring the historic plazas and museums, sampling at the Cigar Factory, strolling the oceanfront Malacon, sipping daiquiris at Hemingway haunts and squashing toes at the Casa de Musica. Oh look, there’s me getting sloshed on Mojitos in the gardens of the Hotel National, and me posing beside a gigantic American Chevy, and another, and another. And that’s me doing an impression of a sow at The Bay Of Pigs – hysterical stuff! Can’t wait to show the folks back home.

Then a little voice inside rudely interrupted this smug thought, “Hang on a minute Mr Wish You Were Here. These photos are just bragging rights. What about, you know, the other stuff?”

Damn my subconscious! It was right as usual. This was just the feature length holiday slideshow I’d impose upon friends and family for weeks to come. Deep down, Cuba had been far more than a happy snapfest of famous sights and sounds. It had been a rollercoaster of emotions - enchanting highs and challenging lows - moments we rarely capture on our digital cameras, and never find in the “must-do” section of our dog-eared guidebooks.

The alleyway angel and Havana hussle

Havana was the singer who performed in a decaying back alley building. I wish I could have taken the sound of that mesmerising voice home, but she couldn’t afford a cassette recorder, let alone time in a recording studio. Havana was trying my hand at neighbourhood baseball, and being struck out three times by a six year old pitcher. And it was Ramon, who led me to a bar featured in The Buena Vista Social Club on my very first day. We drank beer and swapped stories before he bid farewell, leaving me to soak up this amazing piece of music history. It was only on the way back to the hotel that I noticed almost every bar in Havana looked like the ones in Buena Vista Social Club. Nice hustle Ramon.

The green-eyed girls of Trinidad

I arrived in French-touched Trinidad to explore the cobble-stoned streets, lively music venues, and white sandy beaches of the Ancon Peninsula. What left a far more pronounced impression were two images from a night on the Cathedral steps where the young Trinidadians go to party. The look of amusement in the gorgeous green eyes of Daniella as she vainly attempted to improve my paltry salsa skills. And later, the absolute fear in those same green eyes as “la policia” grilled her about mixing with a foreigner after dark.

Holguin hospitality and fashion faux pas

The sleepy central cities of Holguin and Bayamo were never meant to be more than a quick fix of colonial charm and ornate gardens on the way to Santiago. However, the warmth and hospitality of the families who ran the local casa’s or guest houses, persuaded me stay on, and in doing so, enjoy a taste of the unique weekend fiesta’s, celebrated with mouthwatering pigs on the spit, and an amazing lineup of performing musicians, dancers, and excruciatingly tight vinyl pants.

Bayamo - the passion and the pain

Or wandering into a Bayamo bar for a quiet drink, only to be invited to join Donte and friends on a birthday celebration that escalated into table dancing until closing time, when the fifteen of us piled onto a horse and carriage and sang Skippy el Kangaroo de Bush all the way to the late night disco. The next day, my sorry condition was put firmly in perspective by the sobering image of Dante standing in line for his family’s weekly ration of rice and shampoo.

The movie set characters of Santiago de Cuba

Santiago de Cuba was a beautiful sight at the end of a hair-raising ride in “The rust bucket formerly known as Jose’s Chevy”. I could only appreciate the astounding eastern highway panorama for so long, even through the “wide open space once known as the floor of Jose’s Chevy”. The city is famous for Afro-Cuban culture and rhythms, beautiful Spanish colonial architecture, and the close proximity of notorious Guantanamo Bay.

Even more enthralling were the characters who called Santiago home. From the actors, writers, artists, magicians, prostitutes, Russian “businessmen”, and Polish sailors who frequented the bar of Casa Grand Hotel, to the gentle elderly couple seated aboard a local “guagua” bus, who told me about the son they hadn’t seen since he fled to Miami more than twenty years ago.

Pinar del Rio - Cuban cigar country

At the other end of the Cuba spectrum, both geographically and architecturally, I discovered the lush green Pinar del Rio, birthplace of the world’s finest cigars. I knew a guy, who knew a guy, who could get “special priced” Cohiba’s in Havana, so I was content to relax and enjoy the slow life after a frenetic paced three weeks on the road.

From the town of Vinales I explored the region’s stunning countryside and beaches, and spent afternoons on the porch of my casa overlooking wandering pigs, chickens, and the curious grandfather - all who ignored me for two days.

Then one afternoon, the old man hobbled outside, beckoned me to his shed with the three remaining fingers on his left hand, and taught me the art of cigar rolling. My skeletal Cuban Spanish vocab made conversation impossible, so instead, we puffed on throat peeling cigars, sipped high-octane rum, and laughed at nothing in particular for 3 wonderful hours. Even the sad realisation that Cuban cigars weren’t rolled on the silky thighs of virgins, but in the gnarled hands of weathered old men, couldn’t ruin such a great moment.

As the Havana airport sign came into view, I slipped my camera back inside my daypack and looked at the box of handmade cigars the old man had given me when I left the guesthouse. It dawned on me that the Cuba experiences I’d never forget were the ones I had never expected to find.  

Commercial in Confidence
© Simon Hillier 2008