Driving via Cienfuegos to hippie Trinidad

DAY 99: Wednesday, 23^th of May

Castro posters everywhere

Allie's version: A tedious day with a long drive via Cienfuegos to Trinidad

                                                  

Our last week on this round-the-world tour starts with another terrible sleepless night. Am awake till 3am, try to read, look at the stars and drink more of our horrible Cuban red wine. Nothing helps. At last a swim in the bay gets more half way human. At breakfast we can’t believe what we see: some people pile up break and butter like they are preparing for a 10 years long siege! We wonder where the other guests are from and ask. We are told they are Cubans. That explains a few things. We seem to be the only white people in here anyway, but by now we know why!

not quite our vehicle...

Check out at 9.30 and leave via the coastal road to Cienfuegos. But that was a BIG mistake. Past the little beach where I was hoping to get some more snorkelling (but they charge 12 Dollars for it, so we didn’t stop) the road rapidly deteriorates into a dirt road getting more and more rough and bumpy. 

Anti-US banners everywhere

We decide that it’s only about 15km and that we dare to take the risk to continue. But the road goes on and on. The only living things here are tons of huge red coconut crabs. 

Phil has to drive in slaloms trying to avoid crushing them which actually might result in another hole in our wheels. Finally we come to a military settlement. 

That’s where we should turn off. But where is the road. We stop and ask and the people tell us we can’t go on. The road is too rough! 

We are furious: one full long hour tough driving completely in vain. We have to drive all the way back to our hotel, get fuelled up and take the other major road. The only saving grace is that we didn’t get another puncture driving back and the crocodiles along this swampy area missed their lunch!

City hall in Cienfuegos

Roads seem to take forever here and the countryside is deadly boring. Flat like a pancake, hardly any trees or agriculture it’s just no-mans land. And of course there are again absolutely no road signs. Mr. Castro certainly has to improve some things in his country if he wants to promote tourism. At around noon we finally arrive at the city of Cienfuegos. A heavy thunderstorm makes us escape into the first coffee bar. 

crumbling houses in Cienfuegos

But it soon clears up and we stroll around the downtown area in search of an internet café. The shop tells us it’s open from 8.30 till 6pm, but like so many other places it’s actually shut for lunch, when we come back it’s closed for 5mins but then for another hour! We give up.

Some of the old houses and the square with it’s famous theatre are truly beautiful. But much of it is in a derelict and crumbling state and the palace at the main square with it’s lovely tower is shut because it’s falling apart. What a shame!

An Airport is marked on the map on our way out to Trinidad and of course Phil wants to have a look. We are surprised to find a road sign telling us ‘Aeroporto’. But then – of course – at the crucial junction, all signs are missing and we drive miles past it. Back again asking twice we find it. But it’s devoid of any flying vessels and we carry on. 

School kids in their uniforms and typical trishaw cycle

The lonely plant and our map showing different roads then what the next signboard to Trinidad suggests, but we follow the sign. What else can you do? But for heavens sake, again we end up somewhere else and the f.. signs are missing at the important turning. By that time we have probably already wasted a total of 2 hours and 20 dollars worth of petrol. It seems to me that this is a special policy of this country to get more cash from lost tourists. 

The desolate Playa de Ingles!

I am desperate for my swim, but all we see is horrible marsh land and tacky places. At last we stop at the ‘Playa de Ingles’ and I have a dip in the sea with dozens of Cuban holiday makers staring at me. What a fun! 

My Caribbean dreams of crystal clear blue waters are dissolving rapidly into concrete block hotels, brown rough beaches and fat locals that want money for everything they try to offer you for ‘free’.  

I certainly had enough by this time and am so glad that we finally reach Trinidad.

Trinidad is praised as one of the most beautiful historic towns in Cuba and on of the major tourist attractions. And indeed the colourful houses and the cobblestone pavements are quite pretty. But again we find the place quite dodgy and unsafe. Lot’s of black boys jumping up to our car and trying to get something out from us. We decide to flee to the hill top hotel called ‘La Cueva’. It’s expensive with 80 dollars a night but at least we have safe car parking and a (so far) quiet bungalow with nice views across the bay. 

finally approaching Trinidad

We walk down to the town and wander around the little lanes. All quite pretty with nice restaurants, bars and shops. As we haven’t had lunch we decide to eat downtown at the ‘La Casa de Musica’. Their fish and mojitos are probably the best, the rest of our food is not too exciting. We talk about ballooning in this area and give it a definite ‘no’. The surrounding area is too hilly, it’s too close to the sea and the town itself is nice but has nothing really special to offer to make a rides business successful here.

I am in general a bit disappointed at this stage. We haven’t found a really nice hotel or beach yet. They are all really tacky but expensive, the locals are pushy and you don’t feel safe and the start of the rainy season with it’s heavy downpours doesn’t help to make you feel much better as well.

 

finally a decent bar and a well needed cocktail

Phil's version:Day 99/23 May

At breakfast our mouths drop open at the quantities of food heaped onto individual plates – mounds of butter, piles of sliced Frankfurter-style sausages. 

Surely our fellow guests cannot, as we had at first suspected, be from other neighbouring Latin countries like Colombia or Mexico? They are mostly overweight and look as if they are from the lower levels of society. A brief enquiry at reception confirms that they are all Cubans from either Havana or Santiago.

The electricity is off at the Cupet fuel station so the pumps won’t work but we guess we have enough to get at least to Cienfuegos, some 80km away to the east. 

Allie wants to try for a swim at a beach a few km down the coastal road rather than the main inland route to Cienfuegos. At the beach the tarmac road peters out and a sentry with a uniform identifying him as from the ‘Ministerio del Interior’ is manning a barrier.

He waves us through when we state our intended destination and we continue eastbound along a mangrove-lined and increasingly rough track. Despite Allie’s pleas I soon stop trying to avoid mass slaughter of the hundreds of land crabs scuttling across. After about 30km of bouncing and slaloming we pass another roadblock and enter a remote village where charcoal piles wait to be incinerated. 

A lone petrol tanker, which I had noticed in the rear-view mirror following us most of the way, grinds to a halt so we circle back to confirm directions. The driver firmly communicates that from here on the road is not passable to saloon cars. We are furious and frustrated as we begin the long and futile haul back to Giron where the tarmac road can be rejoined. I am well aware that Allie was only persuaded by a hairsbreadth to make the trip by car all the way to Santiago, and we have just added two unnecessary hours to it.

The whole route seems devoid of and signposting – though we should no longer be surprised – and twice more we lose our way. Cienfuegos is a big and mostly ugly city but with a well-kept central plaza where the opera house was once graced by Caruso. The Internet office here is advertised on the door as being open from 0800 to 1800 but is closed when we try to get in just after 1pm. No explanation is offered by the employees clearly present within. The inhabitants of the city generally look threatening and I am reluctant to leave the car unattended for very long.

view over historic Trinidad

Another seemingly endless drive through barren and unattractive countryside, mainly intermittent sugar cane and heathland or mangrove. There are mountains to the north, but too far away to be a real feature. At Playa el Ingles, an unlikely name if ever I heard one, a very down-at-heel campsite offers a swim for 1 CUC so Allie is soon in the water. The sea looks unappealing here so I watch, as do a dozen equally down-at-heel Cubans.

'downtown' Trinidad with central church

Trinidad is listed as one of Cuba’s best-preserved historic towns, and in a rather unpretentious way it is. Mostly single-storey Roman-tiled row houses are painted all the pastel hues, but the inhabitants who universally sit on the front step are mostly of Afro-Caribbean origin and look glum and vaguely unwelcoming. A few ‘jinteros’ (hustlers) try to sell illicit cigars or home-stay accommodation.

Our first choice of hotel, selected from a 2004 Lonely Planet, is clearly now derelict, so we settle for a characterless but well-positioned motel overlooking the town. A disco is promised but fortunately not forthcoming, whilst the ‘24-hour pool access’ turns out to be 9-5 and infuriates Allie who likes dawn and dusk dips.

 

At least plenty of live music here!

Sunset at a pretty restaurant overlooking the French-looking Plaza Mayor (perhaps influenced by 19^th century refugees from Haiti?) makes the most of the colour-washed streets with their uneven cobbled paving, but there is still an uneasy relationship between the groups of tourists (Dutch, Israeli) from the nearby Playa Ancon complex and the chattering locals.