| Cuba |
Exotic SantiagoThe ride from Trinidad to Santiago de Cuba takes all day. The nearer we get, the greener and more tropical the landscape. Santiago, nowadays Cuba's second-largest city, was founded by Diego Velazquez in 1514 and is the third Spanish settlement after Baracoa and Bayamo. In the fifties it was the heart of the Cuban revolution. The population is mainly black and mulatto. Because of its geographic location and ethnic roots, Santiago is considered as the true capital of the Carribean. The hospitality and alegria of its inhabitants characterize Santiago de Cuba. Beautiful people with exuberant character and love of life. I'd been warned by Mercedes to keep an eye on Paul because "las mulatas son muy satas alla". Outside of the bus terminal in Santiago, a lot of people are waiting with offers for casas particulares. We pick one and follow the casa owner to a taxi particular. The car is parked behind the corner to avoid policemen witnessing us stepping into it. This way, the neighbour with car earns some extra money and the casa owner gets a percentage. The casa is located in the old city centre, at 5 minutes walking distance from Parque Cespedes. We drop our luggage off and go in search of dinner. At first sight, Santiago de Cuba seems to us a very busy and polluted city. We do not find a nice place to eat, but a mojito and a peso-pizza will do for tonight. Next day, after a good breakfast of orange juice, cafe con leche, fruit and a cheese-and-salad sandwich, we start our explorations. Today we want to arrange our hike to La Sierra Maestra. From the Lonely Planet guide, we know we need a permit to do the hike. This is, if the park is open for hikers, because this is not very clear. Well, we have to find out, and the only place where we can get an answer to our questions, is the Oficina de Reservaciones de Campismo, so that is our first aim today. It is only nine, but the heat is already very fierce. In a street off Parque Cespedes, we find the office. Alas, it is closed! We could have known…but no hay problemas, we'll wait till Monday. Now we have a weekend before us to get to know Santiago, no bad prospect. The terrace of Hotel Casa Grande tempts us for a drink. Overlooking Parque Cespedes, it is a very agreeable place to sit and sip a drink, while contemplating the activity on the plaza below. We'll be back here. Museo Emilio Bacardi Moreau is nearby. This is Cuba's oldest museum. It houses a lot of objects dating from the end of the 19th century, from the independence struggle against the Spanish. In the cellar is the archaeology department. Strangely enough, besides artifacts from the indigenous population of Cuba, we find an Egyptian mummy Sir Bacardi himself brought back from his travels to Egypt, and some Peruvian mummies the museum bought. We had expected to be informed about the Bacardi rum, but this is definitely not the place. Up to the factory itself where nowadays many Cuban brands are distilled (not Bacardi because Bacardi is no longer Cuban, but American and the factory is based in Puerto Rico). It is a long and very hot walk. At first we do not see the factory but pass right next to it, till some Cubans show us where it is. The building is nothing special, factory tours are not possible and it is too early to do a rum-tasting in the shop, so we walk back along the bayside to Parque Alameda, hoping to find a taxi which will bring us to the fortress of El Morro. On a small market I buy some short squarish bananas. It is only back on Parque Cespedes that we find a taxi. Located on a hill at the entrance of the bay of Santiago de Cuba, El Morro makes a good guard of the city. Its thick stone walls descend to sea level. The fortress was built in the 17th century to protect the city from pirates and invaders, such as Piet Heyn, Francis Drake and their pals. Inside we learn a lot about the pirates and corsarios, men with armed boats, fighting under orders and flag of a state. We visit the fortress from top to bottom. Lizards with curled-up tail are worshipping the sun on the hot stone stairs. After a lot of pictures and many stairs, we head to the restaurant nearby to get a drink. Walking along the bay, we descend to Ciudamar where we wait for the ferry to Cayo Granma, tiny island in the bay of Santiago. After 45 minutes the boat arrives and we get in. For 20 centavos we get a lift to the island plus a detour via a lot of stops including the one where we got on the boat. We walk up to the blue church on top of the hill in the centre of the island. Children are playing up here. A small girl gives me a yellow flower. Only the lapping of waves disturbs the silence here. Colorful wooden houses weathered by sun and wind, banana trees, lush vegetation, the beautiful cobbled path we walk on, the evening sun and refreshing breeze, and finally a mojito on a terrace with view on the sunset, what else can one desire? We talk to a friendly inhabitant, Jorge, working with "artesania del mar" (using shells, etc. to make pieces of art). He does not make big money, but with his peaceful job and Saturday and Sunday off, he is a happy man. We take the ferry back and get a ride into town in a huge Clipper. At night we eat on the terrace of Casa Grande. A band plays live music and the atmosphere among travellers and Cubans is lively and full of happiness. Down in the park there is a lot of activity tonight. The old and the young, they're all out there, in their best clothes. The hit of the night for the children is a lap around the park on a motorbike. The bike is pushed forward by a man, each lap with a different child on it. When the man pushes hard and lets the bike go for a few metres, the children cry with joy. The simple things of life… ain't it delightful ? Once out of the hotel, we see that Heredia is completely blocked off for cars. Stages and music installations are being set up. Soon the street is filled with dancing people. Long rows are forming in front of small ice-cream stalls. We wait for our turn and ask for three bolas (scoops) each. The ice is served in a cardboard box. It is delicious and we eat till the last drop is squeezed out of the slack paper. Next day, it's Sunday, the perfect day for a visit to El Cobre, the sanctuary of Cuba's patron saint : La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre. In an old Cubataxi Lada we leave town. El Cobre is located at 17 km northwest of Santiago. After a few minutes' drive we are surrounded by nature. For us nature-lovers, it is again a relief to be out of town. Long before we arrive, we spot the white basilica against a background of green forested mountains. La Virgen certainly chose a good place for her sanctuary. In 1606 the statue was found floating in a bay, by some fishermen. A label was attached to the virgin, saying "I am the Virgen de la Caridad". She was brought to the copper mine near the village of 'El Cobre' (what's in a name) and in 1927 the present cathedral was built. In the chapel on the first floor, we see the statue. Many Cubans assemble here, taking pictures with the Virgen, offering gifts and making wishes. We can sense their strong belief. Around the village nature is lush. We walk between banana trees and playing goats. Mango trees flower abundantly and the valley bathes in an orange glow. At noon we're back in Santiago. We spend the next hours walking around the old city. In the Tivoli neighbourhood, we climb the Padre Pico stairs. On top of the stairs, is the police station that was invaded by the rebels in 1956 to distract the officials from the arrival of the yacht Granma with Fidel Castro and his revolutionaries. On the other side of the road is the house where the young Fidel Castro stayed during his studies in Santiago. Back home we take a shower and a small siesta. The heat is demanding. Later we sit down in the patio of "La Casa de la Trova" in Heredia. Two women and a man are singing traditional Cuban songs. The small audience is made of Cubans and some tourists. At 6 it is mojito-time and we swap the quiet patio for the busy terrace of Casa Grande. We've brought with us the presents for Adriano, a Cuban friend of a girl in our hometown. In the morning I called him and we arranged to meet in Parque Cespedes at 7 pm. Paul and I sit down on a central bench and look around. The problem is that I do not in the least know what he looks like and that he does not know what we look like. Twice I ask a boy if his name is Adriano, without luck. We leave our bench and go around the Parque. Suddenly a Rastafarian with thick dreadlocks down to his waist, asks us "De Belgica ?" and yes, there's Adriano! He has brought his brother with him and they are happily sharing a bottle of white rum. Brother means rasta-brother, we find out later. He is very glad to see us and invites us to come with him. We follow them through a labyrinth of small streets where everybody seems to know Adriano. He brings us from the one house to the other, to meet neighbours, family and friends. Adriano is very happy with his present. It contains a tape with reggae-music and we go in search of a tape recorder. La casa amarilla is the place. Three generations live in this house, all rastafarians. On the walls : pictures of Bob Marley and newspaper cuttings on reggae festivals. The one-year-old grandson is called Haile Selassie, after the rastafari king. Anyway, we are immersed in the rasta-culture. A bottle of rum is refilled in the street and everybody gets a glass. The tape is welcomed with great enthusiasm and soon, Adriano drags us out of our seats and we are all moving to the reggae. It is quite a funny situation. Bottle empty. "Do you have a dollar for another one?" The bottles are emptied at a high pace and we are thinking "better go home before we cannot find our way back to the casa", but in fact... why would we go, nobody is waiting and we do not really want to leave. Chicken wander in the room. Must be rasta-chicken. Finally we tear ourselves away and Adriano accompanies us back home. He talks about his father who fought with Fidel and Che in the Sierra Maestra. Back in his house, he shows us the various medals his father won. Then he phones his mother who lives in the countryside to talk about our visit and, suddenly, he passes me the phone. We have a nice talk, out of the blue. The hospitality of Santiago... I only met Adriano a few hours ago, and now I am talking to his mother on the phone, as if I were a long-known acquaintance. We are not used to this openness, but it is certainly agreeable. Taking leave of Adriano, we notice a copperplate on the house saying that the place was a hiding post for the rebels after the landing of the Granma. Every casa here could have housed the rebels. After a rasta-farewell, we walk home. Happy and amazed by the strange events of the night. First thing next morning : vamos al Campismo. There they tell us to go to La Mula, small village on the coast, near the beginning of the trail. "Everything has to be arranged there." How to get there ? "Well, camioneta's (small buses) to Chivirico stop near the bus terminal and, once in Chivirico, you'll find another transport to La Mula." We walk out. Our questions remain unanswered, we'll have to find out in La Mula if we can do the hike at all, if we need permits etc. On a bench in Parque Cespedes, we sink down and talk it over. Do we go to La Mula risking the possiblity that the hike is not possible and we have to come back here, or do we head to Baracoa for a chill-out on the beach? Soon an old black man with cigar in his mouth comes to sit next to us. We already know him from yesterday. He asks about our plans. We tell him we have to choose between a hike in the Sierra Maestra and a trip to Baracoa. A woman joins the three of us and everybody gives his opinion on what to do. We do not get an inch further and leave the man and woman in the discussion. After some thinking, I tell Paul that I am willing to sacrifice Baracoa for the Sierra Maestra. I'd been looking forward to this hike since we had decided to go to Cuba, and the lack of information I found, made it in a way still more attractive. Let's take the risk, one thing is for sure : in La Mula we'll find out what can be done and what not. Paul agrees, the Sierra Maestra has been very appealing to him too, and besides, it is too early for a rest. We pack our mochilas, say goodbye to our casa owners, we pay and off we go. On the way to the camioneta, we meet the woman we'd been discussing with half an hour before. She inquires about our decision, and wishes us good luck.
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