You may think that, after climbing and then descending a mountain in one day, you would allow yourself a lie-in the next day. Unfortunately there were no such luxuries in this instance. The only bus to pass through the village of Las Cuevas was due to arrive at about 5.30am, so we were up exhaustingly early yet again. Rising from a night sleeping on concrete floors, not having had the chance to wash or change clothes since the hike and with legs now apparently made of wood, we were not exactly fresh as daisies. We packed our stuff up, the bleating/laughing/screaming goats bidding us farewell, and we went down to the tarmac road which ran along the sea-front and along the coast to Santiago de Cuba. We were heading to Cuba’s second city, famed for its colonial architecture, music and carnival scene.
True to Cuban form, the bus arrived three hours late. It had been black as night when we sat/lay down to begin the wait on the side of the road (using bags as pillows and the rocky ground as a bed to try and grab a few more of those missing 40 winks), hardly able to see each other let alone a bus. By the time our transport arrived, the bright Caribbean sun was already rising high into the sky.
I say our “bus” arrived and you may picture a classic London Routemaster, or if you’ve read my previous posts, maybe you’ll know that many of the buses in Havana are hand-me-downs from other countries (I saw an English Arriva bus one time). But, in this wild and distant part of the country, there is no such thing as a “public transport system”, erratic and limited as it might be, like in Havana. The buses round here are trucks loaded with portacabin type boxes. They have a thin wooden bench along the two sides for the lucky few to sit on and then poles running along the ceiling for the rest of us to hold on to. I say “hold on to”. There was absolutely no need to hold on to anything, since you physically couldn’t fall over as everyone was so tightly packed in.
Crammed interior of the bus
As the truck pulled up, what little resemblance the crowd on the tarmac had borne to a queue suddenly evaporated and three hours of waiting seemed wasted as the free for all began. They had done this before! We, evidently, had not. Babies were being passed through windows (the kind you slide across, like you would get in a freezer at the supermarket, not the normal bus kind that only open at the top) and hands were being strategically placed under bottoms as people clambered up the little set of stairs into the box.
I was convinced we were not going to get on – especially with all our bags. But people kept on pushing their way in, making everyone move up, and if they didn’t, well, just ramming themselves in any odd shaped gap, one leg between someone else’s, and the other hovering mid air while it searched for a gap on the floor to enable them to support their weight on tip-toes. When it came to our turn, well, you know the saying, “when in Rome…”.
Barney in his privileged position (or not) at the back of the bus by the exhaust
Out of the 7 of us, 5 fitted inside and 2 were relegated to the steps at the back of the bus. While they were battered with lashes of thick, black, exhaust fumes they did have the luxury of not being shoved in a stranger’s sweaty armpit, holding awkward positions worthy of MJ’s thriller video for hours on end, and were able to sit awkwardly on the floor in the open air at the back.
Prices for different routes written by hand on the side of the bus
The prices for the journey were written in black marker pen on the grey metal exterior of the cabin, listing various routes and giving a warning of “no sitting on the steps”! Very health and safety orientated for Cuba I must say, though potentially a slightly wasted notice when about a hundred people if not more were crammed inside a box about 3m by 5m right behind it, slowly being suffocated by heat, sweat, and diesel fumes.
We made various stops and each time more people thought they were going to get on. We chuckled as we watched them all run for the bus, the only transport out of the village today, and huddle at the bottom of the steps – yes, yes, very likely! One or two people would clamber through the web of limbs to the exit and make their way out, and then 6 people would somehow fill the gap that, moments before, had seemed a squash for just 2. I was amazed! Too tired to keep my elbows poised and ready to guard my personal space, I held my bag between my legs and the bar on the ceiling with one arm, resting my forehead on my bicep to try and grab a bit more sleep, stirring only when shoved by another arrival of new passengers.
Three hours of standing on sore legs later we arrived at a small, small town where we would be able to get a “connection” (another such bus) to Santiago, where we would meet up with out 4 friends that chose not to do the walk. Relieved to be out of the bus, we freshened up in the public toilets at the bus station, brushing our teeth with the water from the hosepipe which acted as a tap. The kind lady who was responsible for using a bucket of water to flush the non-functioning toilet didn’t even charge us the fee – I think she could see how tired we were. A quick change of clothes made all the difference and so we looked for breakfast.
Recovering at the bus station – half way to Santiago
The selection available in the bus station vicinity consisted of, cheese sandwich from a grubby looking state-run kiosk (where condoms priced at about £0.03 make it onto the menu alongside similarly priced coffee and orange squash as part of the government’s sexual health scheme), mystery-meat sandwich (always a no-no. We took to calling it this after seeing the same sandwiches sit open in display cabinets for days without showing any visible signs of deteriorating in their, admittedly already dubious, quality) and coffee. I went for the cheese sandwich. A street seller was selling bottles of tropical flavoured squash for about 1p, so I did a deal and got him to fill up my big 2l bottle for about 10p.
Cold drinks vendor selling out fast in the heat
Suddenly there was a bit of a buzz going around and it seemed the bus to Santiago had arrived so we all gathered our stuff and headed over to the steps, elbows ready to make sure we got a seat this time (still another 2 hours or so until we reached Santiago). Children had the, in my opinion unfair (haha), advantage of being able to slip between the red metal bars of the side of the open air truck and underneath the tarpaulin roof covering, therefore avoiding the queue. One man’s luggage made a suspicious squeak noise every time he moved it and then dropped it casually on the floor. Whilst in the UK this may cause a terror alert, no-one noticed here bar us foreigners. He left the sports-bag at the top of the red metal steps and made his way inside, the bag being repeatedly trod on as people clambered inside looking for space, again, making lots of strange noises. Eventually we discovered, when he opened the bag to let some air in, that the bag was full of piglets! This was one of the many instances we saw throughout our time in Cuba of unusual animal transportation arrangements. I’ve seen a bike go past, wheels squeaking due to old age, only to see when I turn around that the squeaking was not coming from the wheels, but instead was the squealing of a live medium-sized pig strapped across the rear rack and covered in palm leaves, jiggling up and down as the bike made its way along the rocky road. Needs must, I suppose.
On the second bus – with a seat!
After an hour or so of standing on this bus, I managed to get a seat for the last hour or so on a wooden plank next to a soldier and his friends. The bus contained a number of military personnel who appeared to be going home for a break, or returning to the army. They were all very friendly and had a bit of a chat, asking about our mountain walk and laughing in disbelief when we said we did it all in one day. Whilst the journey was a pain at the time, 5 hours standing after all that walking the day before, uncomfortable, crushed and sweaty, now I find it simply hilarious! All part of the story and my experience in Cuba. In fact, if I had the chance to do it again, I definitely would. It feels so liberating travelling in this way when at home were used to seatbelts, Virgin Trains and Ryanair. It all seems a bit too safe and a bit too easy now – a bit boring. It’s funny how time changes the way you view things. I would say it was rose-tinted-spectacles… but I don’t think they’ve had any of those in recently in Cuba (it’s the embargo, see – haha).
We arrived in Santiago at about 2pm and found ourselves by the train-station, not really knowing where that was or how to get to the guest-houses we’d managed to book in advance. When we met the others, they were all shocked by our appearance – unshaven, sweaty, exhausted and darker, mostly due to fumes and dirt rather than sun, and they thought we were all wearing eye-liner (how very metrosexual), due to the rather attractive build-up of dirt. Arran’s beard in particular had grown in impressiveness since it was now full of dirt from the fumes, giving it a fuller, some may say almost Biblical, appearance. Haha!
Biblical beard
We were all really happy to be reunited, even if welcome back hugs were reserved for after we’d showered. We had a lot of catching up to do – three days apart is a long time when you’re used to spending all day, every day, in each others’ pockets. They asked how the walk was as we sat sampling Santiago’s famous rum in the museum (which strangely is just a git-shop since the factory is not open for tourism) but I am pretty sure they thought we were all just moaning and exaggerating. You never really can convey all the highs and lows of something like a strenuous mountain climb without sounding like you’re exaggerating, perhaps because you’re emotions themselves are so exaggerated when you undertake such a physically and mentally demanding task. One more hill seems like the end of the world and an opportune breeze can make your day. Back in the real world, it doesn’t make sense.
Sampling rum in the rum factory gift-shop
Our days in Santiago were spent chilling out and wandering around, just soaking up the atmosphere. There is a high-street that had a more comprehensive choice of shops than any I’d seen up to that point in Havana, even if the window displays were typically bare and lacklustre (HB pencils next to children’s pants next to tinned guava?) given the restricted access to consumer goods due to the embargo.
Shop window on main high-street of Santiago
Window display in Santiago with “Long Live Fidel” sign
That evening we ate dinner is a state-owned pasta restaurant. This is a rarity since pasta is found on the “luxury” side of the divide in Cuba, hence why rice is the staple of choice. We ordered lasagnes all round, costing mere pence – we couldn’t believe it! However, as so often happens in Cuba, the waitress then came out to say there were only 3 lasagnes left, so the rest would have to pick again. We made second choices based on the advice that “we have everything else”, only for her to come out and say, there are only 2 portions on cannelloni left and no Bolognese. You can imagine how it went on. The meals came in drips and drabs and you could tell they had been heated, not fully, in a microwave. I was so hungry I just ate my luke-warm lasagne anyway – I’d only paid about 60p for it. One guy asked for his to be heated more and the waitress looked shocked, as if this was the first complaint they’d ever had. Maybe it was, maybe no-one can ever be bothered? Either way, it was another funny experience and something I will remember, if not for it being a fantastic meal, then for it being a funny one!
What a 60p lasagne looks like in a state restaurant. Soon learnt that if it says hamburger, you just get a hamburger, no bread, no nothing. If it says lasagne… Still not bad for less than £1
Paying for our meal in local, moneda nacional, money. What you see there is probably about £5 and that paid for food and drink for 11 people.
I enjoyed going to see the carnival museum where we watched a performance of a traditional Afro-Caribbean dance. I was a bit confused by the woman that came around waving herbs at you and screaming/singing (not sure…) and asking for donations to get rid of whatever demon she was defending us from. I was shocked to see her going round and straddling members of the audience and jumping up and down on their laps as part of this act and even more surprised when I found her straddled across my own. I didn’t pay her to get rid of my demons, but luckily I seem to have been ok up until now.
Afro-Caribbean carnival performance. Little did I know I was about to get straddled.
One thing to say about Santiago is: IT. IS. SO. HOT. My lord, it is hot. Havana is hot, but Santiago is something else. It is known by Cubans to be the hottest part of the island (Cubans say a lot of things though, so we’d taken it with a pinch of salt) and true to form was a good few degrees hotter than Havana, which itself was regularly over 30. It may not sound like a big difference, but we all felt it.
Feeling the heat in Santiago
Another thing (and it’s not specific just to Santiago, but we did see it there) was the fact that we were greeted every morning at breakfast with a placemat encouraging the use of condoms. They had obviously been given out for free at some point as part of some campaign, since we saw it in many, many guest-houses. There is a picture of a girl and some guys saying “there’s a lot to lose – use a condom in all your sexual relations”. It is great to see the government is trying so hard to send out public health messages, especially as AIDS and the like is such a problem in so much of the developing world. I’m just not so sure I want to eat my breakfast off of that same public health warning – why they picked placemats as the medium of choice, I don’t know. Maybe it’s exactly that, because you’ll remember it, like I have. Hmmmm.
Good morning! Table mat promoting condom use.
I must also mention our trip to the Moncada Barracks. This was the scene of Fidel and his rebels’ failed attack on one of Batista’s most important military installations in 1953 which landed them in prison. Arguably a massive failure, Fidel managed to turn it into a symbol of the start of the Revolution – where it all began, something that inspired them to push on. Now it is just as common to see a big black and red flag, emblazoned with the words “26 Julio”, hanging out a balcony or from a rear view mirror as it is to see a standard Cuban flag. They are everywhere! The museum was interesting, far better than the Museum of the Revolution. A lot smaller, a lot more concise, more modern, more visually appealing… and with air con! Sometimes the enormity of what the rebels achieved in their struggle to take control is diluted by the biased and evocative language of the information on display (a heroic band of just 11 humble Cubans overcame a squadron of Yankee imperialist warmongers etc etc etc) but when we saw some of the statistics in terms of numbers of soldiers, weaponry and equipment etc we were all impressed that Fidel and his gang managed to achieve what they did, whether you agreed with it or not.
At the Moncada Barracks
From Santiago we headed to Baracoa, out last stop, with a very unplanned hold-up at a certain well-known (or should I say infamous?) high-security American military installation. More about Guantánamo Bay in my next post.
Here are a few more photos of our time in Santiago. Some of the photos have come from Stephan, so thanks to him.
View over the roofs of Santiago down towards the bay
Dominoes in one of the town’s colourful plazas
Slogan on a wall citing the importance of education
Vendor selling “frozzen” ice cream, using the fan for the machine to hold the change in notes up against the grill. Each cone cost 1mn (about 3p)
Inside a famous Santiago bookshop, complete with live band
- Most of the crew at the Castillo del Morro fortress in Santiago
At a guest house in Santiago. Sat down on one of these chairs with a wicker back and bottom panel, and my lardy backside went straight through – the man just laughed and said “too much pizza!”. I gave him enough to get it repaired though.
Wind-up musical machine in a Santiago plaza
Some trying to plan what we do next, some being boisterous as ever ahaha
Some kind of fayre organised by the trade union where every company in the town seemed to be putting on a display of what they produced, but with a festival feel and booming Reggaeton music, obviously.
Blog: Alex in Cuba 