February 13th to 18th
Sunday night we had a strange black man standing in the shadows of our second floor dorms. Everyone was creeped out by the presence of this guy who was just pacing one area around the veranda upstairs, who wouldn’t say anything to people walking by, but he would stare at them until they were out of sight. I thought that maybe he was a new security guard for our building on the second floor, but Diana and I went to investigate. We found out his name was Juan Carlos, and when we asked him if he worked here, he replied “For the moment, yes.” He was a very timid younger man, but very alert and odd. While Diana and I had a nightcap downstairs, she went upstairs to grab her cigarettes. On her way down, she realized who the man was: We’re across from the Chinese embassy, and so was Fidel Castro at that time. So at every house that had a floor or room that could look over the wall of the Chinese embassy, such as our second floor, they had a security guard posted there. Similarly, white vans lined the streets to prevent people from parking nearby.
Monday, class went by without any big developments. Did you know the Cuban model for independence and revolution was based on the Texas model of a few decades before? Similarly, a proposed flag in 1868 was modeled after the Texas flag.
For the past five days or so, I’ve been waking up with a nasty cough that has prevented me from squeezing the last few minutes of sleep out, as well as coughing up some nasty phlegm and sneezing uncontrollably. I decided that especially after my rainy, cold hike on Sunday morning, it was time to hit the free Cuban health clinic. Diana went with me because of a perpetual cold that she has had for the past month. We both got in to see the doctor pretty quickly, but while she came out with her prescriptions right away, I had none, which was strange. After waiting for 15 minutes or so, we asked why I hadn’t received one – they said that I needed to get my chest x-rayed to see if there were any visible problems. We waited another 45 minutes, and nothing had happened so I asked what the deal was. Apparently, the x-ray machine was broken, but it would be fixed soon and they would come get me. To make a long story short, they had to take two x-rays because it wasn’t fixed the first time, I had to see a second doctor because the first had already gone home for the day, and I had to wait 30 minutes while paperwork was filled out for my prescription for Cipro (yeah, the same stuff for Anthrax victims). I figure it will do me a lot of good, however, since I haven’t been on any prescription medicine in the past two or three years, and it’s good to restart your system every once and a while. Cost to me = $0. Thanks, Cuba!
While at the clinic, we heard five languages: Spanish, English, Portuguese, Creole, and Cuban Spanish. This wasn’t surprising considering it was the foreigners’ hospital, but it was depressing being around sick and wounded people for four hours. Furthermore, it was cold inside because of the air conditioning, and cold outside because of the cold front. I got to take home my x-ray however, so it’s not all bad news.
Valentine’s Day. While mine didn’t flourish with love but rather lamentations, Diana and I went on a pity date with each other – me because of a clarification of my situation, and her because she discovered her first dog was being put down - to see Bario Cuba, a movie about four different lives who are conflicted with love and life. I only understood about 10% of the Spanish because of the Cuban dialect and the acoustics of the theatre, but I could follow the story. The ambience of the theatre was amusing, because people would yell things out randomly and generally it was a very casual, social setting rather than everyone being there to enjoy just the movie.
Earlier in the day, we saw our first transvestites. Diana and I walked by two women waiting on the corner for a taxi, and she commented that one had a deeper voice than me. I walked by and looked at both of them and how they were both taller than me, and after standing across the street and watching them, realized that they were most definitely transvestites. Apparently, it’s a growing demographic in Cuba.
Wednesday afternoon we played some basketball on the nearby courts. Usually, there’s been at least half a court empty out of two courts, but today it was packed with school children playing baseball in the sandlot, a volleyball net taking up one of the courts, and kids on both of the other hoops. They saw us show up however, and we were invited to play with a group of kids already on the court. Although the majority of them were fourteen or younger, one older guy who must have been around twenty-five played with them as well, and this guy could ball. He obviously got his skills from the street, as he was exceptional at juking me out, even once dribbling the ball between my legs and penetrating for a lay-up. It was a little frustrating getting played by a bunch of little kids and one showboat, but we still ended up having fun. After the game, we just shot baskets, and it was nice to see a little 6 or 7 year old kid having a fun time shooting with our ball.
Wednesday night, Eve and Prianca, from UNC, invited me to an a capella concert that a Cuban that they met had invited them to earlier in the week. I’m always up for a capella, so we walked to the church that it was taking place at. Since in the States churches are often venues for social events, it didn’t strike me as odd that this concert was being held at one. When we arrived though, it dawned on me that it was the equivalent of Wednesday Mass (except it wasn’t a Catholic church). Even more shockingly, this church was the equivalent of a Southern Lutheran or Baptist church in the States. People raising and shaking their hands, interrupting the preacher to give praise to Dios, people crying and sobbing, and giving “aplauso para Dios” more than I ever have in my life. I was afraid that the concert wasn’t even going to happen, but the group eventually came on, singing 50s do-wop style a capella, excepting the songs were about God and they were in Spanish. It made me wonder if the Cubans were familiar with this type of music, or if it was just an odd novelty for them. After a while though, the Jesus-ness got to be too much, and we headed back to the UNC residence, where I was formally taught how to play dominoes, though I can’t say I understand the draw of it – apparently there’s some strategy in playing, but I was too frustrated with the flawed logic of some of the rules to get into the strategy of it.
Thursday was supposed to be our day of tavel for the weekend to Pinar del Rio. We received our Carnets, which are our temporary residence cards, in the afternoon. The plan was for Valerie and Diana to head out ASAP, which was around 1:30PM, and Scott and I would leave immediately after our Spanish class ended at 4:50PM. Then we would meet them at a certain location in Pinar at 10PM. If that fell through, we would meet them at 10AM the next day. We all four also planned to hitchhike.
Scott and I got a taxi and headed to the highway that went between Pinar and Havana, paying $8 to get to the outskirts where the highway was located. There we were dropped off at a government-supported hitchhiking area where officials flagged down empty cars, figured out where they were going, and called out to the waiting people. You paid somewhere between 5 and 15 national pesos (25 cents and 75 cents), but we never ended up having to pay because we never got a ride in the 3 hours we were there. In that time, perhaps 5 people got rides to Pinar (as most people there we waiting for that destination), while empty bus after empty bus passed by without stopping. People started getting frustrated, including the official who tried to get everyone organized into a line. Instead, they chose to yell at him and create trouble, but Scott and I tried to be respectful and create a line. Unfortunately, as is becoming more and more common, we were cut in line by several people. The feeling I get is that Cubans are very nice and generous, unless their own way of life is of more importance at the time, such as getting somewhere before the gringos do. It didn’t end up mattering, because we gave up around 8PM when the officials’ workday was over and they headed home.
Then we went through the trouble of getting another taxi for $8 to the bus station to find out when they left in the morning so we could get to Pinar by 10AM. Chances looked slim as the first bus left at 8:30AM and it was a 3 hour drive to Pinar. Thankfully for once we were hustled outside of the station for a private taxi. We were offered a $20 total cost for Scott and me, but it didn’t make sense to leave that night, so we slept back at the residence and then got a private taxi to Pinar the next morning at 6:30AM. When we got to Pinar, we waited for two hours at the Casa de la Musica, which was supposed to be our meeting place. When 10AM and then 11AM rolled around and we hadn’t met up with the girls, Scott went to check at the bus station, the plaza, and the Centra de la Musica. We ended up empty handed, and so we decided to make the most of our weekend and get a casa particular.
On that end, we couldn’t find a place to stay for less than $20 a night, although they would charge $15 a night if we both had breakfast the next morning, which bumped the price back up to $21 total. So we eventually settled for $20 a night, put our stuff down, and decided to go get some lunch. I called homebase (the residence) to tell them where we were staying just in case Diana and Valerie called trying to figure out what happened, and they had called minutes before to leave their address. Scott and I started walking in the direction of their casa, but they ran up behind us while we were walking and we were reunited. Apparently, we were supposed to be at the Casa de la Cultura, not Musica. We reconciled, and then went to check out Pinar del Rio. We visited a kitschy Natural Science Museum that had an interesting wooden canoe that had washed up on the beach a long time ago, though no one knew where it came from, as well as a display on Cuba’s use of renewable energy to power rural schools.
We also went to the Fabrica de Bebidas Guayabitas, an alcohol bottling company. The type of alcohol they made was only distributed in Cuba, and it came from a fruit called the Guayabita, similar to Guayaba (guava) but a different species altogether. They showed us the fermenting barrels, where we were allowed to chew on a piece of the fermented fruit, about the size of an olive. Despite the fact that they only had 30 workers, they produced over 2,000 bottles of the alcohol daily. They had an alcohol for mixed drinks at 40% alcohol and a liquor that was called “Guayabita dulce” that was 30% alcohol and was suited more towards highballs. The dulce, however, was not in stock because they were currently fermenting the next batch. Though I can’t drink because of my antibiotics, I sipped some of the alcohol, which seemed fruity but in an almost nutty way. I bought a bottle because it seemed like it would be a good respite from the monotony of rum when I could start drinking again.
Though the tobacco factory was closed, the tobacco shop wasn’t, so I also bought a cigar made from the tobacco of Pinar Del Rio called Veguero. As far as my untrained palate could tell, it was right in between the smoothness of Habanos and the harshness of Cohibas. The tobacco shop also sold other fine cigars, such as boxes of Cohibas that were easily $300, and a bottle of Cohiba cognac that sold for $500. Thankfully, my cigar was only $5, but I’m still used to only paying $1 per Habano.
That night, while we were waiting for the festivities of the night to begin, we ate some ice cream at Copellias and then listened to some boleros at a café, which was also attended by one of the women to whom the International Book Fair (which was currently in Pinar del Rio) was dedicated. Afterward we headed to the street concert being held in conjunction with the book fair. While we were walking to the stage, a beautiful mulatta woman grabbed my arm and tried to take me with her, but I wasn’t going to ditch the Fantastic Four despite her forwardness and attractiveness. Naturally, the concert started with a cabaret of older singers and older songs, but it was followed with a Cuban hip-hop group. Despite the similarities between reggaeton and hip-hop, the Cubans were not interested in this group, and while I stood at the front of the stage for the short four song set, a Cuban yelled out to the duo to play another song for the gringo since I obviously liked it so much.
While the next band set up, a Cuban recognized me from waiting for a ride the night before. He said that around 8:15PM a bus had shown up that picked up everyone that was still waiting to get to Pinar. It was a little frustrating to know we had been so close, but as he said, Cuba no es facil. He told me that his Italian girlfriend and he worked at the book fair, and that because of his work, he was able to travel to Italy four months out of the year. He also unloaded on me all his grief about making friends with travelers, and the difficulties that Cubans face in being amiable to outsiders. We parted ways with him expressing his hope that someday he’d be able to travel to the US to visit where no one minds if foreigners and natives socialize.
The next band, which I had been told was a rock band, came on to little fanfare, because, as I learned, they were a metal band and everyone in the crowd was waiting for the reggaeton DJ again. I found it pretty interesting that this cultural cross-section put on by the international book fair had decided to support a Pinareno metal group. In fact, it was damned admirable, considering that a group of only fifty or so of the hundreds there had come out of the woodwork to enjoy this type of music. I’m sure it’s seldom that these metalheads have the chance to see a live act, so it was a very awesome opportunity for them. During the set, two or three people stage-dove, and while I was closer up to the stage taking a video of the concert, another kid jumped off of the stage. Immediately, a group of four to eight police officers ran into the middle of the crowd, preventing any moshing and generally ruining everyone’s fun. The anxiety of the police actually ended up causing the premature end of both their concert and the whole street party in general. So while it was very cool that the organizers had been very eccentric in the musical talent of the night, it was extremely disappointing to see the government put an end to a bunch of kids’ fun. They should rather understand that that type of concert would be more therapeutic than trouble-making, and that their course of action will only do more harm in the end than good.
The next day, we rented scooters to drive to Cayo Jutia, northwest of Pinar del Rio. I had originally wanted to go to Maria la Gorda that weekend in my quest to visit the 14 best beaches in Cuba, but its distance from Pinar pushed it back to another weekend in the future. The route to Cayo Jutia was 25km north to the pine-lined mountain town of Vinales, then another 35km west and then north through one of Cuba’s mountain ranges.
Half of the fun was in the journey. We sped along the Cuban roads, leaning into the turns in the mountains and picking up more speed than the two-stroke engines allowed while going down hills. The scenery was incredible, and it was very refreshing to be carving turns while smelling the fresh pine of the mountains.
We weren’t without accidents, however. Scott had some problems getting the bike going, and at one point in Vinales while he walking the bike, he accidentally pulled on the accelerator and the bike shot forward into a Cuban’s bicycle, knocking it over and dropping the scooter. Thankfully, nothing was damaged but perhaps Scott’s pride, and we rode on.
We got to the beach and immediately jumped in. It was a perfect temperature to swim (though the water here has yet to reach the bathwater temperature that we’ve been told it will in the early summer), and we enjoyed splashing around in the sky blue waters. I snorkeled a bit, though it wasn’t as good for that as Playa Jibacoa, and found an intact sand dollar, as well as several broken conch shells. I swam out fairly far, probably around 300 yards, and at one point came across a large, metal circle on the ocean floor. It appeared to be metal at least, but it seemed to be the cap to something. It was very mysterious, but I couldn’t uncover any clues as to what its purpose was.
I found a hermit crab on the beach that was exactly like the ones you see sold in malls in the US. We also made fun of the British tourists at the beach who attempted to ask for fresh “ahg-kwah” instead of “agua”, didn’t know that Cristal and Bucanero were beers, and could presumably hardly say “hola”. After spending only two and a half hours there, we had to leave to get back to Pinar in time to return the bikes, but we were sufficiently sunburned by that time.
Though there isn’t much else to write in regards to the scooter ride back to Pinar, it was really one of the most liberating and fun things we’ve experienced here. Everyone said that they’d love to do it again, so from here on out, any trips we take we’ll be looking for scooter rentals.
We went back to the bus station in Pinar and arranged a trip for the four of us back to Havana for only $4 per person. Before we left, we ate some food at the nearby stands. Once again, I experienced the “screw the Gringo, I’m Cuban” attitude I waited for a steak sandwich. While I held my money out waiting for the server to hand me my sandwich, a Cuban guy stepped up to my side, put his money out, and asked for a sandwich. I stepped towards him and forward, blocking him off, and said “Hey, I’m first” (obviously in Spanish). Then, while waiting for pizza minutes later, a woman stepped to the front of the line to ask a Cuban guy who was right before us to buy two pizzas for her and her child, completely jumping in front of the 4 of us and about 10 other Cubans. It was too late to complain, but I wanted to smash the pizza in her face and tell her to respect the rules of the line. Then, as I was the last in line in our group, I asked for two pizzas but was rebuffed by an older Cuban woman who claimed that she was before me, even though she was after me in the line. I understand partly where she was coming from, because I had come into the line after she had already been waiting, but I have seen plenty of Cubans hold someone else’s place. If I hadn’t gotten my two pizzas at the same time she got hers, I would’ve raised some hell with her.
Diana had an interesting ride back, as she was squished in the front seat between the driver who said that she had to pretend that she was his girlfriend if they got pulled over, and a police officer that we picked up on the highway. She was put up front instead of one of us because she blends in better with the Cubans, both a blessing and a curse for her.
Overall, we had an extremely fun weekend. Things that I’ve learned: one, step up to Cubans who try to screw you on prices, or jump in front of you in lines. They think gringos will just defer because of a lack of Spanish, but I’m more than ready to go toe-to-toe with an arrogant Cuban. Two, the police state is alive and well and ready to put down any violence, even if it’s a form of expression. Three, while hitchhiking is possible in Cuba, and relatively safe, it’s not dependable despite the government’s support of it. That government support probably stems from the fact that even police officers and military personnel are forced to hitchhike if they want to get anywhere in the country.
Monday, class went by without any big developments. Did you know the Cuban model for independence and revolution was based on the Texas model of a few decades before? Similarly, a proposed flag in 1868 was modeled after the Texas flag.
For the past five days or so, I’ve been waking up with a nasty cough that has prevented me from squeezing the last few minutes of sleep out, as well as coughing up some nasty phlegm and sneezing uncontrollably. I decided that especially after my rainy, cold hike on Sunday morning, it was time to hit the free Cuban health clinic. Diana went with me because of a perpetual cold that she has had for the past month. We both got in to see the doctor pretty quickly, but while she came out with her prescriptions right away, I had none, which was strange. After waiting for 15 minutes or so, we asked why I hadn’t received one – they said that I needed to get my chest x-rayed to see if there were any visible problems. We waited another 45 minutes, and nothing had happened so I asked what the deal was. Apparently, the x-ray machine was broken, but it would be fixed soon and they would come get me. To make a long story short, they had to take two x-rays because it wasn’t fixed the first time, I had to see a second doctor because the first had already gone home for the day, and I had to wait 30 minutes while paperwork was filled out for my prescription for Cipro (yeah, the same stuff for Anthrax victims). I figure it will do me a lot of good, however, since I haven’t been on any prescription medicine in the past two or three years, and it’s good to restart your system every once and a while. Cost to me = $0. Thanks, Cuba!
While at the clinic, we heard five languages: Spanish, English, Portuguese, Creole, and Cuban Spanish. This wasn’t surprising considering it was the foreigners’ hospital, but it was depressing being around sick and wounded people for four hours. Furthermore, it was cold inside because of the air conditioning, and cold outside because of the cold front. I got to take home my x-ray however, so it’s not all bad news.
Valentine’s Day. While mine didn’t flourish with love but rather lamentations, Diana and I went on a pity date with each other – me because of a clarification of my situation, and her because she discovered her first dog was being put down - to see Bario Cuba, a movie about four different lives who are conflicted with love and life. I only understood about 10% of the Spanish because of the Cuban dialect and the acoustics of the theatre, but I could follow the story. The ambience of the theatre was amusing, because people would yell things out randomly and generally it was a very casual, social setting rather than everyone being there to enjoy just the movie.
Earlier in the day, we saw our first transvestites. Diana and I walked by two women waiting on the corner for a taxi, and she commented that one had a deeper voice than me. I walked by and looked at both of them and how they were both taller than me, and after standing across the street and watching them, realized that they were most definitely transvestites. Apparently, it’s a growing demographic in Cuba.
Wednesday afternoon we played some basketball on the nearby courts. Usually, there’s been at least half a court empty out of two courts, but today it was packed with school children playing baseball in the sandlot, a volleyball net taking up one of the courts, and kids on both of the other hoops. They saw us show up however, and we were invited to play with a group of kids already on the court. Although the majority of them were fourteen or younger, one older guy who must have been around twenty-five played with them as well, and this guy could ball. He obviously got his skills from the street, as he was exceptional at juking me out, even once dribbling the ball between my legs and penetrating for a lay-up. It was a little frustrating getting played by a bunch of little kids and one showboat, but we still ended up having fun. After the game, we just shot baskets, and it was nice to see a little 6 or 7 year old kid having a fun time shooting with our ball.
Wednesday night, Eve and Prianca, from UNC, invited me to an a capella concert that a Cuban that they met had invited them to earlier in the week. I’m always up for a capella, so we walked to the church that it was taking place at. Since in the States churches are often venues for social events, it didn’t strike me as odd that this concert was being held at one. When we arrived though, it dawned on me that it was the equivalent of Wednesday Mass (except it wasn’t a Catholic church). Even more shockingly, this church was the equivalent of a Southern Lutheran or Baptist church in the States. People raising and shaking their hands, interrupting the preacher to give praise to Dios, people crying and sobbing, and giving “aplauso para Dios” more than I ever have in my life. I was afraid that the concert wasn’t even going to happen, but the group eventually came on, singing 50s do-wop style a capella, excepting the songs were about God and they were in Spanish. It made me wonder if the Cubans were familiar with this type of music, or if it was just an odd novelty for them. After a while though, the Jesus-ness got to be too much, and we headed back to the UNC residence, where I was formally taught how to play dominoes, though I can’t say I understand the draw of it – apparently there’s some strategy in playing, but I was too frustrated with the flawed logic of some of the rules to get into the strategy of it.
Thursday was supposed to be our day of tavel for the weekend to Pinar del Rio. We received our Carnets, which are our temporary residence cards, in the afternoon. The plan was for Valerie and Diana to head out ASAP, which was around 1:30PM, and Scott and I would leave immediately after our Spanish class ended at 4:50PM. Then we would meet them at a certain location in Pinar at 10PM. If that fell through, we would meet them at 10AM the next day. We all four also planned to hitchhike.
Scott and I got a taxi and headed to the highway that went between Pinar and Havana, paying $8 to get to the outskirts where the highway was located. There we were dropped off at a government-supported hitchhiking area where officials flagged down empty cars, figured out where they were going, and called out to the waiting people. You paid somewhere between 5 and 15 national pesos (25 cents and 75 cents), but we never ended up having to pay because we never got a ride in the 3 hours we were there. In that time, perhaps 5 people got rides to Pinar (as most people there we waiting for that destination), while empty bus after empty bus passed by without stopping. People started getting frustrated, including the official who tried to get everyone organized into a line. Instead, they chose to yell at him and create trouble, but Scott and I tried to be respectful and create a line. Unfortunately, as is becoming more and more common, we were cut in line by several people. The feeling I get is that Cubans are very nice and generous, unless their own way of life is of more importance at the time, such as getting somewhere before the gringos do. It didn’t end up mattering, because we gave up around 8PM when the officials’ workday was over and they headed home.
Then we went through the trouble of getting another taxi for $8 to the bus station to find out when they left in the morning so we could get to Pinar by 10AM. Chances looked slim as the first bus left at 8:30AM and it was a 3 hour drive to Pinar. Thankfully for once we were hustled outside of the station for a private taxi. We were offered a $20 total cost for Scott and me, but it didn’t make sense to leave that night, so we slept back at the residence and then got a private taxi to Pinar the next morning at 6:30AM. When we got to Pinar, we waited for two hours at the Casa de la Musica, which was supposed to be our meeting place. When 10AM and then 11AM rolled around and we hadn’t met up with the girls, Scott went to check at the bus station, the plaza, and the Centra de la Musica. We ended up empty handed, and so we decided to make the most of our weekend and get a casa particular.
On that end, we couldn’t find a place to stay for less than $20 a night, although they would charge $15 a night if we both had breakfast the next morning, which bumped the price back up to $21 total. So we eventually settled for $20 a night, put our stuff down, and decided to go get some lunch. I called homebase (the residence) to tell them where we were staying just in case Diana and Valerie called trying to figure out what happened, and they had called minutes before to leave their address. Scott and I started walking in the direction of their casa, but they ran up behind us while we were walking and we were reunited. Apparently, we were supposed to be at the Casa de la Cultura, not Musica. We reconciled, and then went to check out Pinar del Rio. We visited a kitschy Natural Science Museum that had an interesting wooden canoe that had washed up on the beach a long time ago, though no one knew where it came from, as well as a display on Cuba’s use of renewable energy to power rural schools.
We also went to the Fabrica de Bebidas Guayabitas, an alcohol bottling company. The type of alcohol they made was only distributed in Cuba, and it came from a fruit called the Guayabita, similar to Guayaba (guava) but a different species altogether. They showed us the fermenting barrels, where we were allowed to chew on a piece of the fermented fruit, about the size of an olive. Despite the fact that they only had 30 workers, they produced over 2,000 bottles of the alcohol daily. They had an alcohol for mixed drinks at 40% alcohol and a liquor that was called “Guayabita dulce” that was 30% alcohol and was suited more towards highballs. The dulce, however, was not in stock because they were currently fermenting the next batch. Though I can’t drink because of my antibiotics, I sipped some of the alcohol, which seemed fruity but in an almost nutty way. I bought a bottle because it seemed like it would be a good respite from the monotony of rum when I could start drinking again.
Though the tobacco factory was closed, the tobacco shop wasn’t, so I also bought a cigar made from the tobacco of Pinar Del Rio called Veguero. As far as my untrained palate could tell, it was right in between the smoothness of Habanos and the harshness of Cohibas. The tobacco shop also sold other fine cigars, such as boxes of Cohibas that were easily $300, and a bottle of Cohiba cognac that sold for $500. Thankfully, my cigar was only $5, but I’m still used to only paying $1 per Habano.
That night, while we were waiting for the festivities of the night to begin, we ate some ice cream at Copellias and then listened to some boleros at a café, which was also attended by one of the women to whom the International Book Fair (which was currently in Pinar del Rio) was dedicated. Afterward we headed to the street concert being held in conjunction with the book fair. While we were walking to the stage, a beautiful mulatta woman grabbed my arm and tried to take me with her, but I wasn’t going to ditch the Fantastic Four despite her forwardness and attractiveness. Naturally, the concert started with a cabaret of older singers and older songs, but it was followed with a Cuban hip-hop group. Despite the similarities between reggaeton and hip-hop, the Cubans were not interested in this group, and while I stood at the front of the stage for the short four song set, a Cuban yelled out to the duo to play another song for the gringo since I obviously liked it so much.
While the next band set up, a Cuban recognized me from waiting for a ride the night before. He said that around 8:15PM a bus had shown up that picked up everyone that was still waiting to get to Pinar. It was a little frustrating to know we had been so close, but as he said, Cuba no es facil. He told me that his Italian girlfriend and he worked at the book fair, and that because of his work, he was able to travel to Italy four months out of the year. He also unloaded on me all his grief about making friends with travelers, and the difficulties that Cubans face in being amiable to outsiders. We parted ways with him expressing his hope that someday he’d be able to travel to the US to visit where no one minds if foreigners and natives socialize.
The next band, which I had been told was a rock band, came on to little fanfare, because, as I learned, they were a metal band and everyone in the crowd was waiting for the reggaeton DJ again. I found it pretty interesting that this cultural cross-section put on by the international book fair had decided to support a Pinareno metal group. In fact, it was damned admirable, considering that a group of only fifty or so of the hundreds there had come out of the woodwork to enjoy this type of music. I’m sure it’s seldom that these metalheads have the chance to see a live act, so it was a very awesome opportunity for them. During the set, two or three people stage-dove, and while I was closer up to the stage taking a video of the concert, another kid jumped off of the stage. Immediately, a group of four to eight police officers ran into the middle of the crowd, preventing any moshing and generally ruining everyone’s fun. The anxiety of the police actually ended up causing the premature end of both their concert and the whole street party in general. So while it was very cool that the organizers had been very eccentric in the musical talent of the night, it was extremely disappointing to see the government put an end to a bunch of kids’ fun. They should rather understand that that type of concert would be more therapeutic than trouble-making, and that their course of action will only do more harm in the end than good.
The next day, we rented scooters to drive to Cayo Jutia, northwest of Pinar del Rio. I had originally wanted to go to Maria la Gorda that weekend in my quest to visit the 14 best beaches in Cuba, but its distance from Pinar pushed it back to another weekend in the future. The route to Cayo Jutia was 25km north to the pine-lined mountain town of Vinales, then another 35km west and then north through one of Cuba’s mountain ranges.
Half of the fun was in the journey. We sped along the Cuban roads, leaning into the turns in the mountains and picking up more speed than the two-stroke engines allowed while going down hills. The scenery was incredible, and it was very refreshing to be carving turns while smelling the fresh pine of the mountains.
We weren’t without accidents, however. Scott had some problems getting the bike going, and at one point in Vinales while he walking the bike, he accidentally pulled on the accelerator and the bike shot forward into a Cuban’s bicycle, knocking it over and dropping the scooter. Thankfully, nothing was damaged but perhaps Scott’s pride, and we rode on.
We got to the beach and immediately jumped in. It was a perfect temperature to swim (though the water here has yet to reach the bathwater temperature that we’ve been told it will in the early summer), and we enjoyed splashing around in the sky blue waters. I snorkeled a bit, though it wasn’t as good for that as Playa Jibacoa, and found an intact sand dollar, as well as several broken conch shells. I swam out fairly far, probably around 300 yards, and at one point came across a large, metal circle on the ocean floor. It appeared to be metal at least, but it seemed to be the cap to something. It was very mysterious, but I couldn’t uncover any clues as to what its purpose was.
I found a hermit crab on the beach that was exactly like the ones you see sold in malls in the US. We also made fun of the British tourists at the beach who attempted to ask for fresh “ahg-kwah” instead of “agua”, didn’t know that Cristal and Bucanero were beers, and could presumably hardly say “hola”. After spending only two and a half hours there, we had to leave to get back to Pinar in time to return the bikes, but we were sufficiently sunburned by that time.
Though there isn’t much else to write in regards to the scooter ride back to Pinar, it was really one of the most liberating and fun things we’ve experienced here. Everyone said that they’d love to do it again, so from here on out, any trips we take we’ll be looking for scooter rentals.
We went back to the bus station in Pinar and arranged a trip for the four of us back to Havana for only $4 per person. Before we left, we ate some food at the nearby stands. Once again, I experienced the “screw the Gringo, I’m Cuban” attitude I waited for a steak sandwich. While I held my money out waiting for the server to hand me my sandwich, a Cuban guy stepped up to my side, put his money out, and asked for a sandwich. I stepped towards him and forward, blocking him off, and said “Hey, I’m first” (obviously in Spanish). Then, while waiting for pizza minutes later, a woman stepped to the front of the line to ask a Cuban guy who was right before us to buy two pizzas for her and her child, completely jumping in front of the 4 of us and about 10 other Cubans. It was too late to complain, but I wanted to smash the pizza in her face and tell her to respect the rules of the line. Then, as I was the last in line in our group, I asked for two pizzas but was rebuffed by an older Cuban woman who claimed that she was before me, even though she was after me in the line. I understand partly where she was coming from, because I had come into the line after she had already been waiting, but I have seen plenty of Cubans hold someone else’s place. If I hadn’t gotten my two pizzas at the same time she got hers, I would’ve raised some hell with her.
Diana had an interesting ride back, as she was squished in the front seat between the driver who said that she had to pretend that she was his girlfriend if they got pulled over, and a police officer that we picked up on the highway. She was put up front instead of one of us because she blends in better with the Cubans, both a blessing and a curse for her.
Overall, we had an extremely fun weekend. Things that I’ve learned: one, step up to Cubans who try to screw you on prices, or jump in front of you in lines. They think gringos will just defer because of a lack of Spanish, but I’m more than ready to go toe-to-toe with an arrogant Cuban. Two, the police state is alive and well and ready to put down any violence, even if it’s a form of expression. Three, while hitchhiking is possible in Cuba, and relatively safe, it’s not dependable despite the government’s support of it. That government support probably stems from the fact that even police officers and military personnel are forced to hitchhike if they want to get anywhere in the country.
posted by Jake at 5:51 PM
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