Ok I am calling it… Cuban guidebooks know as much of the place as Cuba Gooding Jnr after one of his partying sessions…hazy, in denial about the difficult state of affairs and largely talking it up.
From the moment I arrived at Cuba airport I realised things were to be very different from what I had read.
Hostesses lined up along the baggage carousel to reclaim their modern items, like huge televisions, to sell locally. One had to admire their dedication to their job by taking the concept of in-flight entertainment to a whole new level. I was watching a Christmas present conveyer belt where the most desired presents were the very things people come to Cuba to escape.
They want what we have. We want what they have.
A classic case of grass is always greener, well almost, as once the rum wears off for most Cubans the grass really is greener elsewhere, excluding where Donald Trump is of course.
So what would my guidebook entail?
Lose yourself in the beach villages that line the infamous Bay of Pigs. Here you will find deserted white sand beaches with clean, blue water, a small thatch roof bar for one where you can drink rum, dream, drink rum and devour huge, freshly caught lobsters. This was so good; I was a pig in mud! Upon reflection, maybe I shouldn’t write my blog after one of these rum induced afternoons.
Cycle through the farms and villages to really get an inside look of the Cuban life. Watching a chicken eating chicken though had me considering possibilities of marketing it. Chicken Surprise or Chicken a la Chicken…there was not going to be a vegetarian option.
Visit the Cuban missile caves where the Heads of Government used to hide during the missile crisis is an eye opener. We were taken through the caves on a little boat…I could see this in a few years as a Disney rollercoaster with explosions that go off around you to the music of ‘It’s A Small World After All’…that would have hit the mark perfectly (no pun intended).
Visit the Salsa caves in Trinidad. Literally a nightclub buried into the caves just outside the town where you dance the night away and funnily enough – drink rum.
Anyway, back to my trip…
My cycling guide described everything to be “amazing, amazing, amazing but for now, enjoy the scenery”. Riding through the rain to our accommodation only to find it was booked out had me looking up the translation of amazing. Strangely enough, amazing in his language matches our understand of it – I took him aside and filled him in that this wasn’t amazing.
During this cycle trip I discovered that not only do the wheels of a bike go round and round, so did we. As each part of the day’s riding included repeating the previous day…maybe I was on the Cuba Gooding Jnr bike ride that was designed to help you remember the day you had just drunken away?
Sorry, must be bottling up the rum jokes.
Our second guide, come bodyguard, had a love for orange trees and would point them out when we passed every single tree (couldn’t use that in the guide book me thinks). He would send an image of his escapes with us to work each day, so I asked him who does his work when he with us away…apparently no one…oh to be back in the 1950’s.
How to describe Cuba? A place where the world pressed the paused button and said ‘thou shall go no further’. Parts are stunning, parts have so much potential, but mostly parts are in ruin.
So the Cuban’s use colour on their houses to gain a sense of control over their life, music to escape what is effectively poverty, and dance to express themselves. All with an innocence that it will work out, you know what – maybe it will.
For now, enjoy the scenery…and the lobster…and the rum…and the music…and the rum.
