Monthly Archives: May 2013

Sunday May 19, 2013

It’s finally time to leave Cuba after only a week here, and we feel we didn’t get to enjoy or experience a fraction of what this amazing country has to offer. We never made our way up to Havana or spent time snorkeling and fishing the cays.  We never got a chance to really get to know the people here because of the language barrier.  We never even walked up the road to Punta Gorda to enjoy views of the bay from the cute little gazebo I spotted on our way in.  So there’s only one thing left to do.  Learn Spanish, load ourselves up with cash, and come again back this fall.

Our last few hours here and there was really only one big mission for us to complete, getting a bottle of Havana Club rum.  All the cool kids were doing it (Tamarisk, Rode Trip, Skebenga), and buying it at the source where it cost cents on the dollar?  Sign us up!  We may have to stock our bags up with just few bottles!  To find out how much money we’d have left for rum, we had to first check out with the marina.  This meant me first checking out with immigration, and sitting alone in the office with the official where he kept mentioning how pretty my eyes were, and that next time I make a visit to Cuba, it should be without my husband.  No moves were put on me by the Harbor Master, thankfully, but he did tally up our stay as well as inform we that we need to pay for an exit stamp, so our rum fund was now down to 3 CUC.  Those multiple bottles of Havana Club that were supposed to be weighing down our aft end now may be turning into one little airplane sized bottle to be enjoyed with a can of Coke.

We decided to  take our chances that we could still find a bottle in our new price range and make the 2 mile walk down to the prado one last time anyway.  A few blocks out from the marina, Matt realized he left the money back at the boat, and since he was just about suffering from heat stroke, I told him to wait in some shade while I went back to grab it.  Now ‘single’ while walking down the street, I was offered one free tuk tuk ride from a young Cuban guy, and shortly after, another one.  Only, the second guy to offer already had a family of three riding in the back of his.  What he was offering me, was a ride on his lap.  I wish I knew some more Spanish so I could have told him off, but all I could do was mumble “No gracias”, as I walked by with my head down.  Getting back to the boat I put on my big wide brimmed hat, which coupled with my sunglasses, at least made it look like I couldn’t see anything that wasn’t right in front of me, and I could happily ignore all remaining tuk tuk drivers on my walk back to Matt.

Getting to town and walking down the pedestrian street, we made sure to steer clear of the English speaking woman with a stand full of souvenirs including a beautiful set of wooden dominoes that we told her we’d definitely be back to purchase the next day.  I don’t think she’ll give a 70% discount on them, and the excuse of ‘Sorry, we don’t have any more money’ just sounds so cliche and insincere, even if it happens to be the truth.  Hurrying into the clean and upscale convenience store at the corner of the UNESCO World Heritage Urban Historic Center,  we browsed through their extensive selection of Havana Club, and spotted a 500 ml bottle for only 2.85.  Score!  We’d be able to have at least one bottle on our boat after all!  Getting our 0.15 cents in change back, we strolled out to the historic center to take in a few more glimpses of the city before leaving.

Back at the boat it was time for a little more passage prep before departing that evening.  Matt took care of organizing and stowing away all items while I worked on food related things, such as turning our plantains into a fried and salty snack that I could bag up.  It should only take us 36 hours to get to Grand Cayman, but we’re starting to get a little bored with the trail mix packets we usually survive on while passage making.  As a final task, customs spent about an hour on the boat filling out exit papers and asking if we had any beer we could give them.  Not having bought any Bucaneer, and not willing to give away 4 of my Red Stripes (I’m sorry, but I love my Red Stripe, and I won’t dole them out to just anyone), I offered up some of my Jamaican ginger beer instead.  I think the one guy that accepted this offer was a little surprised and disappointed when he took the first sip, expecting some kind of actual cerveza.  That’s fine, I didn’t want anyone hanging out on my boat for hours this time.

Getting the final go ahead to leave the country, we made our way back to the sea and on to our next destination.  I feel so lucky that we were able to stop here, however briefly, to experience a part of the world that many people will only read about.  I will not get into the politics of the country or try to figure out if I think the Cubans are happy with their lives there, that’s not for me to decide.  What I will do after leaving, is take with me an amazing week of once in a lifetime sights and experiences that I will carry with me for the rest of my days.

Saturday May 18, 2013

 Yes, that is a pirate ship at our marina.

Our trip to Cuba has begun to wind itself down, and as much as we’d love to stay for months and months more, our cash is slowly dwindling and a weather window for Grand Cayman is coming up.  We’ve been squeezing in a lot of time with friends in here, and last night made our way over to Skebenga to do some photo sharing with Lukie and Elmarie.  They showed us the highlights of their trip to Havana which they had just gotten back from, and we gave them a glimpse into Trinidad.  While on my way over there, I had a slight snafu with Georgie that almost make me scared to leave her out of my sights.  Normally we’re at anchor so she has the full run of the boat and we don’t need to worry about her going anywhere.  Now that we’ve been at a dock, however, she’s found that she likes hard ground under her feet and will try jumping off any chance she gets, even if it’s just to lay on the cool evening pavement next to the boat.

I thought I could remedy this by strapping her into her harness, clipping her into her leash, and securing it to a cleat or a winch, often like we do on passage.  For most of the afternoons, I wouldn’t say she’s exactly happy, but she’s content to be tethered in to her spot in the cockpit.  Until I left for Skebenga.  As soon as she saw me leaving the boat, she wanted off too, and tried to join.  Her leash gave her the slack to almost make the jump, but not quite.  Luckily I heard the commotion behind me and looked down to see her dangling between the boat and the cement dock, about a foot above the water.  The harness wraps around her chest and not her neck, so she wasn’t in danger of choking, but she must have been taken by surprise because she made no noise at all, only gently rocked back and forth, probably wondering what the hell just happened.  Scooping her up I adjusted her leash so she couldn’t get as far as the side of the boat again, but through each photo at Skebenga, I kept my ears out for any little cries on the other side of the dock, just in case.

Today was lots more ‘friend’ time with a trip into town with Rode Trip in the morning, just to wander the pedestrian walkway, and then beers at the marina bar in the afternoon, along with Lukie and an Australian couple, Roger and Sasha, that are on the boat Edenbal next to us.  We ran the keg dry and then started moving on to cans of Bucaneer and Cristal.  I love being at a marina that will charge you the same cheap price for a can of beer that you’ll be charged for it in the store.  The plan for after our afternoon full of drinking was to check out one of the nicer restaurants down on the prado, which according to our first day friend Christine and her crew, has the best ropa vieja in Cuba.  We were also told that the meals would be cheap, about $3-4 CUC a person.  I wasn’t sure what ropa vieja was, but it sounded like a win-win to me.  We freshened up for a night on the town, and Stephanie and I took a few minutes to play with a stray dog that’s been wandering around the marina.  We’ve named him Double D, for ‘dirty dog’, and we’ve come to think of him as our pet during our time here.

Stephanie and I adore Double D.

Brian….not so much.

Locating the restaurant out on the malecón, we climbed the stairs to it’s second story spot and were greeted by the owner.  A very energetic guy with bouncing blonde curls and looking like he belonged in Australia, or maybe even Europe, but definitely not Cuba.  He had some good English under his belt too, which was great for us trying to decipher exactly what we getting, or even what we wanted.  As he came by to get drink orders, Stephanie asked “What’s a good traditional Cuban drink?”, to which he promptly replied “Mojito”.  “No, I’m not talking about for the tourists.  I want what the Cubans drink.”  To which he replied a second time “Mojito”.  “Oh”, Stephanie inquired, “You guys actually drink those?”  So three mojitos were ordered up while Matt chose to sip on a Cristal.  We were then left with our menus, which were in English for us, as we looked over the feast of foods available and the very low prices.  Each of us wanted to try everything on the menu, but settled for soups, brothy for Brian and I, and a deliciously thick and unhealthy creme kind for Matt and Stephanie, and meals that were served with bread and salad.  Matt got the ropa vieja, which was a scrumptious tender pork, shredded and marinated in some kind of sauce that I will have to get my hands on someday.  I ordered the lamb, which was just as tender and savory.  I think all of us were quite disappointed that we waited until our last day in Cienfuegos to come here.  Had we known earlier how great the food was here, even though my entree turned out to be $7 and not $4, I still think we would have been here every night for dinner.

Stomachs full to the brim, we still decided there was room for after dinner treats.  Matt got the only sweet thing they offered on the menu which was flan, and I settled for a coffee with milk.  Stephanie, however, was still on the hunt for a real Cuban drink.  Something that isn’t also served at the trendy bars back home.  Asking the owner once more, he thought she should try a Canchanchara, and described all the ingredients, which include rum, lemon juice, and honey.  Forgetting what might even be in the drink, we spent the rest of the time at the restaurant just trying to say it’s name. ‘Can-chan-chara’, I would tell Stephanie, and she’d repeat ‘Tar-an-tula!’.  ‘No Steph, it’s not a spider.’  ‘Caaan-chaaan-chara’.  ‘Can-chen-tura’.  That’s ok honey, you keep sipping on that drink, we’ll work on it later.  When the bill was paid, we made our way back out to the malecón, which was now being overrun by teenagers, out on a Saturday night just to be seen.  Picking a spot in front of the bay, we propped ourselves up on the rail and pulled out some Cuban cigars that Matt and I had purchased the other day.  Just mini Romeo & Julietas, but we couldn’t leave here without getting something.  Taking puffs of our miniature cigars, we enjoyed the night time breeze that rolled through, watching all the kids as they passed by, dressed to the 9, and the repeated sound of Stephanie crying out “Can-chan-chara!!”.

Friday May 17, 2013

It feels like we’ve been doing nothing but running around ever since we got to Cuba, so Matt and I decided to take a nice day to ourselves to relax.  We slept in, made ourselves a nice breakfast of pancakes, but nothing could compare to all the fresh fruit we were served yesterday, so we thought we’d finally make it up to the market.  Getting tipped off by our friends on Skebenga of where it was located, we started slowly making our way through the heat to the center of town.  The marina, which happens to be located in a beautiful area on the bay, is still a mile or two walk from town.  Now don’t go calling us wimps just yet, we’re not ones to shy away from a hike, but it’s just the heat that’s been killing us here.  High’s are creeping past 90, there’s suffocating humidity, and never a hint of wind.  Getting here was the first time we’ve allowed ourselves the luxury of staying at a slip in a marina while traveling since the mast went up in the Catskills (I’m not counting St. Augustine), and most days we find ourselves wishing we were at anchor so we could have any resemblance of a breeze rolling through.  So, while away from open waters and any chance of a fresh breeze rolling through, that mile and a half walk into town is a killer.

Stopping along the way for a bite to eat, we found a little chicken shack, or at least I’m calling it that, because everything on the menu is made from chicken.  Chicken hamburgers, chicken meatballs, chicken nuggets (at least, that’s what I think they were).  My Spanish must be getting a little better because I’ve noticed that instead of getting blank stares I’m only left with a few snickers, but ultimately what I was trying to get.  Ordering up a little bit of everything with a side of french fries, we sat in the shade and drowned our sorrows in a nice chilly liter of TuKola.  When the food came out, it was mostly burnt breading, but we managed to find a little processed meat in there as well.  Again, we’re not foodies, so we’ll eat just about anything as long as it’s cheap.  And at $0.10 per nugget or croqueta, whatever those are, we were more than willing to suffer through it just to get some food in our stomachs.  The fries however were fantastic, and I think next time we’ll make a meal just out of those.

Continuing on to the market, we walked inside to find stalls upon stalls of food.  Many of the tables were serving the same items, just filled with different people trying to get your business.  Glancing around each table, we tried to decide what we wanted to buy since we had not made any kind of list to bring with us.  No surprise there.  Eventually I started picking random things that I thought could get use at some point.  Onion, green pepper, tomatoes, maybe for an omelette.  At the fruit stand I picked out a few guavas and a pineapple, and made sure to grab a few very green plantains that I might be able to turn into chips.  We’ve heard that the starchier they are, the better.  Having just found out that morning from my travel guide what ‘papaya’ is slang for in Cuba, I made sure to steer clear of that one.  We also picked up a few other things, garlic, potatoes, something else that kind of looked like a potato, and a pound each of beef and pork.  This market was all in pesos, and the grand total for filling our backpack to the brim was the equivalent of $8, almost half of that being on meat alone.  Going from paying $4 for a pineapple in Jamaica to paying only $0.40 here?  I’m almost starting to wish that official had run away with our passports our first day here.

Thursday May 16, 2013

(Photo courtesy of Rode Trip)

As much as we were enjoying our stay in Trinidad, we were literally out of money and needed to begin our trek back home. (Knowing that we needed $5 to fill the fuel tank, we actually ran that much short on paying for what we thought was a complimentary breakfast at our casa particular and had to short change that wonderfully nice woman that put us up in her home. We’re such horrible people!!) With empty pockets and no way to use an ATM or credit card, our main goal for the day was to get back to Cienfuegos. Ok, that may have been goal number two, as goal number one was to stick together this time. No matter what, we did not leave each others side. If our bikes got to far apart or we thought we might lose sight of each other for any reason, one bike would honk their horn to get the attention of the other one. So after ingraining the main goal into everyone’s head, we stopped by the ‘Welcome to’ sign to plan the route home. All of us were excited to try some new roads, maybe actually get up in those mountains we kept passing by, but at least throw some new scenery into our day. Hopping back on the bikes I noticed some dark and nasty clouds off in the distance, hovering over the mountains we were just about to take ourselves to. A few days here in Cuba though, we’ve noticed that it will sometimes look like it’s going to storm, but the rain never comes. Completely exposed to the elements, I hoped that was the case today.

Now put your back into it.  Yes!, the camera loves you!

Pshh.  We totally know where we’re going.

Making the turn after a few miles to bring ourselves to the Topes de Collantes, we curved down and around steep and winding roads that Matt would have died to take his old Z4 on, but I was enjoying them just as much on a scooter, only going 40 kph. It wasn’t long before we stopped curving down and began curving up instead. The pedal was to the metal as we tried to force our little scooter up the hills, using all the force we had just to maintain forward motion. There was a small break for us along the way up to try and get a few photos in of the view. Hopping back on, we could see the dark clouds moving closer and it all of a sudden became a question of not if it would rain, but how soon? The last thing we wanted while taking these bikes up or even down the steep mountain roads was for slick pavement underfoot that could send us skidding off to the side. Not that there looked to be any sign of civilization close by, but we were hoping to make it to some kind of town before the skies opened up on us.

(Photo courtesy of Rode Trip)

Continuing ever further up, I kept glancing back and down at the alluring views of Trinidad as it fell away below us. That is until the cloud cover grew thicker and thicker and there was only the faint haze of ground below us. We were not going to outrun this rain. It fell in a few light drops at first, clinging to and distorting the view from my sunglasses, until it was a full fledged downpour. For a climate that’s so hot and humid, the rain was cold against our skin, and I burrowed into Matt’s back to try and keep warm. He pushed on with our bike as we climbed ever higher and instructed me to make as little movement as possible so not to throw off the balance of the bike on these now slick roads. The rain wasn’t giving any indication that it was going to let up, and we needed to find a place to pull over and wait it out. We lucked out as just a mile more up the road was a rest area with a covered balcony. Pulling into the gravel parking lot we ran up the steps for cover and into a miniature restaurant area that served drinks and snacks. Coffee or hot chocolate would have been at the top of my list at that moment, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t accept form of payment in smiles or even pitiful pleas.

While waiting for the rain to clear we looked at an enlarged map inside the rest area to check our route again. This one broke everything down into categories of main roads, side roads, hiking trails, ect. Tracing our finger up the road we were taking, we saw the color turned from white to red. Now curious of why it would do such a thing, we looked at the decoder to find out what a red line meant. Surely a main road turning into a side road, right? Wrong. Just a few more miles along the way, our nicely paved road was going to turn into an ATV trail. I don’t know about you, but after looking at these bikes, I don’t think they’re meant for all terrain. We decided the best thing to do would be to drive back down the 10 miles we had just come up, and take the same route home we had come in on. Wanting to give the roads a few minutes to dry up after the rain had finally stopped falling though, we walked about 150 steps up to a nice observation platform with views all the way down past Trinidad and the Caribbean coastline. Even though Matt and I were starting the day on a low fuel tank and we’d now just driven 20 miles out of our way, running out of gas on the way back would be completely worth the views we were treated to.

Finally starting to clear up.

Views down into Trinidad.

Already aware that we’d need to squeeze out every drop of fuel, we turned the engine off on our way back down and kept a tight hand on the breaks until we’d get to an even area to coast before gliding down another hill. Stopping in a few areas to give the breaks a rest as well, we enjoyed the afternoon sun as it came back out and finally started to dry us off. Starting the engine back on once more as we joined the main road to Cienfuegos, it looked like we would be treated to a magnificent view on the way home anyway, golden rays reflecting off the fields and trees. That lasted…about 30 minutes. The rain we had just fought while going up the mountain was now coming to get us once more since we had changed direction. Matt had originally laughed when I noticed clouds coming again and put on a long sleeve shirt to cover up my bare shoulders, but soon we were once more in a cold and heavy downpour. On a flat surface this time, we hoped that slick roads would not be as much of an issue, but when the handle bars began wobbling back and forth we decided that it would be best to once again pull off and wait it out. Only this time there were no roadside rest stops with pretty views to entertain us. We took shelter under a tree, each couple huddled together to try and stay warm.

After waiting fifteen minutes and being given no sign it would clear like the last time, we made the decision to keep pushing forward. Not only was daylight going to start quickly fading, but Matt and I still needed to fuel up at the station we visited the previous day and we had no idea what time it might close at. 6 o’clock? 7? I had visions of us pulling up ten minutes too late and being forced to sleep on the side of the road. Not only because there were no hotels, hostels, or casa particulars in that area, but because we wouldn’t have had enough money in our pocket even if there was. Pushing our bikes back out on the road I kept my body pressed close to Matt’s back, having chills sent down my bare and wet collarbone anytime I let the cool air pass between us. Getting down to one flashing bar on our fuel tank, we finally spotted the split in the road that would lead us to salvation. The fuel station was open, and quite busy actually, plus we had the added bonus that it finally stopped raining. We may not have made it back yet, but at least we knew we wouldn’t be sleeping in the dirt that night.

We found fuel!!

(Photo courtesy of Rode Trip)

The remaining drive home was still not an enjoyable one. Even though the rain had stopped, the clouds never parted to give the sun a chance to break out and dry us off. We were wet, we were cold, and wanted nothing more than to climb under the covers of our bed. It wasn’t long after we left the fuel station that darkness fell and the temperature plummeted even further. It was nothing if only uncomfortable, but now the roads seemed like endless stretches in front of us, giving nothing to look at, and few familiar landmarks. Five miles outside of Cienfuegos the rain started for a third time, and I began to curse our choice of travel method. If we were in a cab, I could be dry and sleeping on Matt’s shoulder right now. But what is that thing people like to say? Getting there is half the fun? Maybe I’ll be able to tell myself that when I’m back in my warm bed.