The archetypal tourist in Cuba is the wrong side of 50 and has never been on a bus for more than an hour. With my readership in mind I will try to be as kind as possible…but it is worth bearing in mind as this blog develops.

The bus from Viñales to Cienfuegos was the third example of an efficient Viazul bus. The only small issues revolved around a long middle stint (nearly 3 hours…Abi and I were bursting for a wee by the time we pulled in for a lunch stop) and an Italian couple who spent the majority of the seven hours taking photographs put of the bus window.

Is it really my business, I hear you ask. Perhaps not, but it is difficult to fathom why they did it and I can tell you for free that none of those pictures would have made the blog cut…let alone the hallowed Instagram 10.

Cienfuegos

The sun quenched port side city of Cienfuegos was our first…erm…port of call on our trip south.

Unassuming and laid back, the lonely planet guide’s suggestion that this is the Paris of Cuba are dreadfully wide of the mark. Cuba does not have a Paris and does not need one.

Instead, I would say that Cienfuegos is teetering on the edge of two worlds. It is the portal between the modern (by this read 1950’s-2000) north and the dinosaur aged south (surely even they could get bottled water from their local supermarket – we are looking at you Santiago de Cuba).

Our accommodation (which we reached by enlisting a random bloke driving past – the sole taxi driver outside the bus station was trying to gringo me by charging 5CUC for a 5 minute ride…we still had to pay 3 to Cuba’s newest chauffeur!) was pleasant enough:

Abi’s Rating: 6/10 – Smelly bathroom but the breakfast and hosts were nice. We were able to hang washing on the roof

Mike’s Rating: 7/10 – Great breakfast, decent location near to the Malecón and the bed was pretty comfy.

The imperious Malecón of Cienfuegos is bursting with potential, and the stroll that took us to the very tip of the bay gifted us with easily the best sunset of the trip.

Our chosen location was the balcony of the rowing/boating club and it was a real treat.

The two restaurants that we frequented were alright but the food struggles that were on the horizon (spoiler) were starting to show with more and more menu items listed as unavailable (obviously not listed as unavailable…you were told after ordering).

Not much else to see or do here really, the main square housed a couple of pretty impressive buildings, the theatre had not had a show for a few months and the lady on the door laughed off that attempt at culture (we declined the 5CUC per person tour).

A bit of souvenir shopping, an unsuccessful attempt to find a soft drink (but plenty of bottled water) and some lounging on the roof terrace were the other activities before the short but highly eventful bus to Trinidad.

We arrived at the bus station in Cienfuegos about 40 minutes before our scheduled departure and it was absolute carnage.

I joined the queue (Abi was plonked on a bench with the bags) just in time to witness a German chap go full headteacher on the woman behind. She did not take too kindly to his ‘mansplaining’ (Abi is always telling me off for doing this…apparently it’s a thing) which basically consisted of “This is a queue…I am here…you are there”.

This was only the start of the entertainment as three bus loads (2 to Trinidad and 1 to Havana) of tourists (you know the demographic) tried to push themselves into a tiny Viazul office.

One woman was on the verge of tears as she explained to anyone that would listen that she had been there for three hours in the stifling heat of the tense bus station.

I eased my way forward in the queue using techniques learned by watching the skilled South Americans (communion, football matches, metro, carnival etc) and quickly realised the key to getting through the sacred door. Paper.

The old chap manning the door (I think he had early on set Parkinson’s) was shooing away an irate Frenchman with a mobile phone reservation so I took my chance to flash my printed out copy infront of him. That did the trick and I was ushered inside.

You could not really make up the scene inside the office. For a start the temperature was glorious…a good 7 or 8 lower than the cesspit outside.

A young Argentine woman sat languidly on a comfortable sofa writing her diary. She had presumably just wandered in and was waiting to see if any tickets would be spare at the end.

In front of me in the mini queue stood a Colombian couple (their phone reservation seemed to cut the mustard). And there, sat behind the desk, was the reason for the wreckage of red faced Europeans outside.

A young woman sat idly scrolling through her mobile phone and barely glanced up at us. She had a landline phone resting on her chin (remember when they had cords…those were the days…still are in Cuba) and did not want to be there. It took a good 5 minutes to write out a ticket for the Colombians before it was my turn.

She positively raced through my ticket and I was hoping to be back outside with 5 minutes to spare before departure (although by this point the Argentinian had reassured the entering purple faced Frenchman that the bus would not leave until everyone was sorted).

Alas, disaster struck…the ticket book run out. To be fair to the young lass it was a good meter and a half to the cupboard so she called the old boy back in from his frantic crowd control and instructed him to look through the cupboard that was filled with ticket books.

I am not kidding when I say it took a good 5 minutes to decide which number to use and I could only imagine the apocalyptic narrative unfolding outside.

I emerged triumphant…two tiny pieces of paper in hand. Of course that was just the start as we then had to negotiate the baggage process and the reappearance of our German friend who had this time bitten off more than he could chew with a robust looking official. She told him in no uncertain terms where to go when he began questioning whether or not his bag would make it to the bus.

If you ever wondered why humans go to war then this was it in a nutshell. I genuinely feared for the safety of some of the more doddery looking characters as the bus finally arrived. I needn’t have worried as they were the most savage in the fight for a seat on the bus.

Abi and I did manage to bag separate ones which is more than could be said for the handful of people left to stand. The cherry on top of the cake…the Argentine girl was last on and, having taken a glance down the bus at the standing masses, sat down on the seat at the very front that was reserved for the Viazul chap working on the bus. He stood for the duration of the 90 minute trip.

La Boca

More drama was to follow on arrival to Trinidad as I tried a failed to haggle with the throngs of taxi drivers waiting at the bus station. As it turned out, they were all bici taxis and therefore their reluctance to take us to the out of town village La Boca was perfectly reasonable.

No harm done…a short walk around the block and we found a car to take us to the half built settlement of La Boca.

If Cienfuegos was the portal to another dimension then our arrival in La Boca signalled that we had arrived in a new world. With a heartbeat to rival that of Geralt of Rivia (allegedly 4 times slower than mere mortals) this sea side village was so horizontal that it was inverted.

Unfortunately Abi wasn’t too well but we spent our time relaxing on the terrace and on the shabby looking but pleasant enough beach a stone’s throw away from the casa.

The casa looked completely out of place from the rest of the village and was probably our best so far:

Abi’s Rating: 10/10 – Huge bed, cottage like vibe, breakfast crackers and salsa on the roof. Only negative was an awkward guy doing breakfast serving.

Mike’s Rating: 10/10 – Great breakfast, comfortable bed and wonderful terrace.

The sunsets were spectacular and Abi gave me a salsa lesson on the roof as the light faded away. It was a wonderful memory to make.

I dined alone for a couple of nights at (seemingly) the only restaurant. The service was agonisingly slow but the food was good enough. I tried to take Abi some rice home and waited patiently for it to be cooked. After giving it half an hour I enquired as to its whereabouts and the waitress informed me that it was ready ages ago!

After some difficulty getting a taxi back to Trinidad…the instruction of “wander around and ask” from the casa worked in the sense that I found the number of the taxi company for them to call…we arrived in Trinidad.

Trinidad

Lonely Planet was not wrong about this one, “the clocks stopped in 1850 and – apart from a zombie invasion of tourists – have yet to restart”.

The streets are filled with life and the late afternoon sun lit up the streets to give it an ethereal glow.

We didn’t venture into the surrounding mountains so instead spent a couple of days roaming the streets and watching the world go by from the lovely terrace at Daysee’s Hostel:

Abi’s Rating: 5/10 – good rooftop, bedroom needs interior design work, breakfast not good.

Mike’s Rating: 5/10 – Good location and lovely terrace. Breakfast wasn’t the best and the pillows were naff. Water pressure non existent.

The panoramic view from the top of a strange and very random little museum were well and truly worth the entrance fee. The steps to the top looked like they could give way at any moment but we timed it perfectly as a bus load of tourists were about to make the climb up as we reached the bottom. I really hope that some of them didn’t or their insurers would have been called into action!

We located some excellent shortbread (the first sweet treat in weeks) although soft drinks were again at a premium (we got a 1.5l bottle at an ice cream shop severely lacking in…you guessed it…ice cream).

We managed to sit on some steps and watch a salsa band while some daring couples danced in front of the crowd…I was not quite brave enough!

Following the aborted trip to the Beatles Bar in Varadero I was determined to get to Bar Yesterday. If a place every summed up a country then this was it.

No actual beatles songs. Sixty year old tourists giving it absolute beans alongside teenage cubans smoking cigarettes and engaging in some dangerous looking head banging. And of course, no soft drinks.

The pictures on the wall reading, Beatle John, Beatle Paul, Beatle Ringo and Beatle Harrison had me racking my brain for the latter’s surname. Sorry George but I half blame the Cubans for the confusion.

It was definitely time to go home but that would be far too simple and so it was time to go as far South as possible and the utterly bizarre Santiago de Cuba. But first, only the small matter of a 13 hour bus journey.

One woman nearly came to blows with another over seating and there was a rather ferocious verbal tennis match over the top of my head. I felt like a ball boy at Wimbledon.

Oh and i’m sorry to say it but people of a certain age cannot work reclining bus seats. If i’ve seen it once then I have seen it 10 times over the last three weeks as the third age grapples with plastic and fabric. A rather athletic and well built chap leapt to the rescue on this particular occasion and – as Abi cooed “I bet he did military training” – I struggled to comprehend how difficult it was to push a button on the side of a chair. To my right a camera phone was pressed against the opposite window…it was going to be a long trip.

Santiago de Cuba

Without doubt one of the strangest places I have ever been. Our casa owner opened the door to us and when I politely enquired if they had some water or a soft drink his reply was that they are no soft drinks in Santiago.

He was only partly joking.

Roy’s Terrace Inn was our penultimate stay in Cuba:

Abi’s Rating: 9/10 – Nice breakfast, lovely ladies, they made us a honeymoon cake, a point off for the pillows.

Mike’s Rating: 8/10 – Good breakfast and decent enough location, bed wasn’t that comfortable and the shower wasn’t very powerful.

The supermarkets in Cuba have been remarkably understocked but even by the rest of the country’s standards this was remarkable. Sparkling water only (in packs of 12 – presumably the logic here is if anyone is mad enough to drink sparkling water they must want a lot of it).

No issues with biscuits though…

Or hp sauce obviously…

We survived by purchasing big bottles at a small cafe attached to a hotel! They also served soft drinks so we treated ourselves on a couple of occasions!

All in all “the cultural capital of Cuba” was rather disappointing. An excellent little museum located on the former site of the infamous Moncada Barracks was a highlight…although it shares the place with a massive school…not sure DBS is a thing in Cuba.

Aside from this and the mightily impressive cathedral located in the main square, there was not too much to write home about.

We enjoyed an hour or so of live jazz music at an old fashioned looking little club. We were 50% of the audience but it was rather relaxing and I nearly fell asleep!

We spent time wandering the streets and finding sunny spots to settle down in before dashing for the shade when the unrelenting heat got a bit too much.

The street touts were incredibly annoying and it does become rather tedious to continually say no thank you but we persisted.

Not too sure what to say about this chap who was walking along in front of us…

We had dinner in the hostel one night and it was very tasty if not a little on the expensive side. We didn’t have too much choice though as the restaurant scene in Santiago is pretty non existent.

The dire situation was aptly summed up by an evening stroll to the jardines de enamoradas for some of the guide book recommended ice cream.

We sat down at a table and were handed a menu which basically outlined the number of scoops you could have in different shaped bowls. The waitress came along and Abi made the fatal mistake of asking what flavours there were. Guanabana was the reply.

We had our scoop each and left as entire families tucked into mountains of Guanabana ice cream.

It was definitely time to go home but thanks to American Airlines’ decision to no longer fly out of Santiago (having been there I can actually sympathise with this decision somewhat) we had to get an overnight bus back to Havana.

Havana take two

It was a painful and sleepless 13 hour bus back to the capital (not least because it was about 5 degrees – the signs weren’t good when our chirpy bus driver donned a Barcelona wooly hat as he racked up the air con) but we were entertained by the ludicrous antics of an oddball wearing a Salsa Camp in Cuba 2019.

For a start Mr Filch (named for his resemblance to the Hogwarts caretaker) wanted to alert the world to his ability to speak spanish by making constant phone calls in the waiting area. Before we had left he had upset the man behind him by leaning his chair so far back that his head was resting on the mans lap. He wisely moved.

Halfway through the night we made a stop in Camaguey and new passengers got on the bus. With seats filling up it became necessary for our dear friend to move his large wheeled briefcase. His response to being asked to move it was sensational. A) Pretend to not understand Spanish. B) Stuff his mouth with cracker C) Stare blankly.

I like to think that my “Excuse me have you paid for two seats then” had the desired effect as he huffed off to the toilet and returned with a “vamos a ver” as he tried to squash his bag under the seat. I felt for the poor man next to him who had to spend the next 7 hours with a bag jamming into his ankle.

The final attention seeking act came at the end of the journey when Mr Filch announced to the world that he had woken up by letting out two thunderous moans as he stretched. Quite the performance.

Our final night was spent in ‘Fresa y Chocolate’:

Abi’s Rating: 5.5/10 – weirdo man (owner) barged into our room while I was asleep, only one pillow, disco outside.

Mike’s Rating: 7/10 – decent enough for what we needed, stored bags for us and booked a taxi (which was almost unheard of in Cuba)

Having slept for about 2 hours the last thing you want to do is walk around Havana in the scorching heat for 4 hours. But that is what we did as I was adamant we were going to visit the Necropolis – a large cemetery. Alas it never happened as we ended up in a rather dodgy area. When I asked where the entrance to the cemetery was we were directed up a small lane. There were some seedy looking characters on the aforementioned lane and I was convinced that we were about to be surrounded.

We decided to make a swift exit stage right and return to the safety of the nearby plaza de la revolución which is home to the vast Jose Martí Monument as well as the faces of revolutionary heroes Che and Camillo Cienfuegos.

Abi was understandably not happy and so we made our way back to the Air BnB to check in and have a few hours kip.

A sunset stroll along the Malecon was followed by a Valentines meal at El Biky (the queue was large but it all moved quite swiftly and we were seated within 45 minutes – cakewalk in Cuba). The food was excellent and not only did we have dessert but I sanctioned a taxi for journey home. Who says romance is dead?

Our 23 days in Cuba have come to an end, and while the last week or so was a real struggle, it must be said that it is a fascinating country. Viñales and Varadero were a real delight and Havana was full of life despite being a little rough around the edges.

Aside from the small hiccup on the final day (certainly self inflicted) Cuba has been the safest country that we have visited so far. We have seen very few police and the majority of people have been happy to leave their doors open.

Any country that does not accept their own currency in their country’s principal airport (don’t ask) has to be placed in the ‘odd’ category but the imperfections of this island nation and its reluctance to give in to the allure of capitalism must be applauded.

We will be sad to leave behind the friendly people, beautiful colonial buildings and the guarantee of sun…but the February cold of the patria and some home comforts are much needed.

Final Stop: Miami