~~~
It feels like Cuba didn’t want us to leave. We were welcomed into so many homes and spend so much of the past month sharing moments with people that treated us like family. It made us realize a lot about the importance of solidarity and treating each other like family.
A note on family: just a few weeks ago my grandfather, Ernesto Botello Gómez, passed away. I was still in the depths of Cuba cycling when I found out more than a week later. I’d like to dedicate something to him and it seems weird to dedicate this email but this is how I share my life with everyone so this goes out to the legendary hero who taught me many things but among them to love the outdoors and the night sky.
~~~
We landed on Cuban soil ready for adventure. But first! A few lines of immigration in which people just cut you anyways. After gathering the boxes we set to work on reassembling the jumble of bike parts and gear we had just packaged no more than a few hours prior. After the bikes were put back together and we waited in line(motif!) for currency exchange we road off in the general direction we thought we wanted to go in. We stopped outside a gated state operation where we chatted with the night guards and refilled our water supply. After we got to talking we sang a few songs and did some acrobatics (soon to be our main mode of introductions). We handed off our bike boxes to a kind lady with a gruff voice who said she would save them for us until we had to take our return trip back.
The sun setting and not knowing where we were going to sleep, we pedaled off in search of a camp spot. The rains came down in drippy drops and we swerved to avoid pot holes on semi paved roads. We saw somebody brushing there teeth outside of their house and we asked if we could take refuge from the rain on there porch. They yelled, “of course come on in” and this became the standard greeting to the never ending question of “can we sleep here?”. The family we stayed with in Cubatobacco gave us our warm welcome into Cuba. It seems strange to be treated like family so easily but it’s common place in a country of such solidarity.
Also we were gifted some of the biggest mangoes we have ever witnessed. We were in the prime of mango season in Cuba and a day did not go by where we did not eat at least 5 mangoes each.
Mainly off of the bigger national roads, we took the scenic byways towards the western end of the Island. After an introduction to Cuban Pizza (the main staple of food stands) in Artemisa and a quick dip in a state owned pool party spot we arrived dripping into the town of San Diego de Los Baños where we were greeted by a family of grandparents, who were siblings, taking care of the great matriarch.
We also met the lady who cooked us the best food of our trip the never ending feast where you think you ate all you could but they try to squeeze food into any open crevice left. Her name was Olga, she’s a gem.
We worked our acrobatic musical mojo and began to perfect our party-in- a-can gimmick. On our climb through the hills we came across a state bone drop off site where there were dozens of cow skulls between the trees. Annina was in her element taking photos and video and constructing an art installation for someone to find later.
We decided to take a good lucking cow skull to sell as a painted art craft once we got back to Mexico. So strapped to the back of our bike it traveled with us for the rest of the trip. We made our way to probably the most rural spot in the sticks where this wonderful mother welcomed us into her humble abode, let us entertain her with our porch style camp cookery and tales of foreign foods that she thought were only for her piggies like pumpkin seeds and dehydrated soy. As we slowly drifted off to sleep, a local neighborhood boy who we had just met early that evening kept trying to convince us to give him a stick n poke on his hand of his name but we avoided that by drifting deeper into dreams and justifying that we had don’t need to be giving back alley tattoos to 15 year olds in rural Cuba. After we were made know of the current road situation,we whipped the steed in a 180° fashion pointing the needle of our compasses back a road we had already traversed.
We entered one of our first bigger metropolises in Pinar del Río of the trip since we didn’t go into Havana proper when we landed. Eager to get back to the simple side of things, we pedaled to the coast to get our first real taste of the Caribbean ocean from the Cuban perspective. We ended up in a run down beach town where some Cubans vacation in the summer. Most of the beach shacks looks well weathered and semi abandoned but we asked around and everyone seemed chill with us camping on the beach in a the porch of an unused hut. The seaweed layer was so thick as you entered the ocean it felt like swimming in warm water ball pit. The night was filled with salty showers, some beach laundry, and quick thinking as we avoided letting mosquito hoards into the tent between night time peepee breaks. Our sails set for the western tip, we kept our course stopping only for the occasional mango break and the afternoon nap sesh under the shaded tree from the heat of the day. Also we started our daily health and wellness ritual called 20-10s. We we’re inspired to do so by witnessing the shear strength and beauty of a young baby girl with Down syndrome who would carry her equally sized siblings with ease and had the poise and body posture of a strapping young Schwarzenegger. On the way to Manuel Lazo, we passed by a farm that was labeled agro ecological so we stopped to ask what they were all about. A kind old lady there introduced us to the cashew tree in Cuba, they call it Marañon! It was our first time seeing the fruit and seed in real life. The fruit is extremely juicy, semi-sour like a plum, and astringent. The seed hanging from the bottom of the fruit is what we know as the cashew nut.
In fact they’re farms like this all through Cuba, the majority of the country are farms and cane fields. Most people have their own food gardens/forests and raise their own animals as a means of self sufficiency. Many of the places we stayed had chickens clucking about and piggies snorting and eating the leftover food or sancocho. Cuba definitely exemplifies a culture of permaculture. Afternoon rain showers were a pattern our first few weeks of travel. When we arrived at the entrance to Parque Nacional Guanahacabibes we convinced the national park guard to let us bike to the western tip of Cabo San Antonio by saying we wanted to take photos of the ship wreck we had heard about. We camped for the first time not in someone’s yard but on the beach among palm trees. There was a smelly red tide that prevented us from swimming in its waters. After biking for a little over a week we had made it to the western tip of the island where there is not much too see except for a desert-like beach landscape, the occasional iguana, and an abandoned cargo ship wreck just off of the cliffs coral shore.
Right back from where we had come, we biked up and out of the western peninsula. We ended up in another small consejo popular (Cuban name for a local township) called Ciudad Bolívar. We camped in a yard with a neighbor who slapped himself in the face when he got too excited and a little baby boy who liked to watch Nina poop (there are not too many doors in most houses just makeshift sheet curtains between rooms). We got caught in a rain storm in Mantua and took refuge with an older couple that taught us a bit about politics and let us feed their chickens. We made our way to Saint Lucia where our new Cuban family helped us wash our stinky-ass clothing and combed Annina’s hair for her after she showered. We made our way through the hills into the mystic valley of Viñales with its mountain scenery and cavernous rock structures. We stayed with the family of a friend we had already met earlier in our journey. They had an amazing permaculture food forest with fruit trees and coffee bushes, pineapple plants and vegetable undergrowth. We walked around and got caught in a gnarly hail/rain/thunder/lightning down pour after sneaking into a cave. Also we got a taste of some homemade Cuban hot sauce. It’s not too common for Cuban’s to eat spicy, it’s not a part of the culture, but they do have some spicy peps growing around. One of the most fiery peps is colloquially called pica culo (aka the butthole stinger). We had it a few times prepared in a vinegar curtido with oil and garlic. Most of the people had been letting it marinade in the fridge for years so we can tell you first hand it was well aged. Just a few drops was enough to live up to it’s name.
We pedaled out of the mountainous valley and east towards La Habana. Before getting into the city and caught in the usual rerun of storm chasers, we stumbled upon a Food Forrest Farm. In search of shelter from the rain we camped underneath a covered awning. The caretakers brought us a bag full of marañon fruit and in the morning we met the owner who does international agricultural education work through a program based out of Cuba called project vida.
In the morning we biked into the city. Our main task was to buy stamps from the bank so that we could apply for a visa extension. After some line waiting we acquired the official stickers and went to an official Casa Particular, the first of the trip, so that we could have an official receipt to show at our immigration interview for our place of lodging (apparently tents don’t count). We walked up and down and across the city, apparently we don’t know how to not keep moving all the time.
The next morning we went to the immigration office and sat in a waiting room. There we were witness to some of the finest live dramas available in Cuba, the line fight. People don’t normally form a line in the conventional sense in Cuba, they usually are loosely gathered in a cluster whenever a new person integrates into the line they ask who the last person is and they just keep track of order in that way. Inevitably people skip or leave, or cut all together with the excuse that they just have to ask a question. The order become chaos and the situation gets heated. Everyone loves putting in their 2 cents and telling their version of the chronology of the line. Somehow we were even involved in a version of the story. People pointed to us as ‘the couple’ and we waved and smiled “yup we’re also here in this jumble”. Eventually someone with authority came out and calmly reminded everyone, as if she was all to familiar with the predicament, that you don’t need to raise your voices to figure out the sequence of the line in a calm and civilized manner. When our turn was up to go in we realized we were in the wrong waiting room and had to go to the back waiting room and start all over again. A few lesser squabbles ensued over lines for the passport pickup section next to us but nothing as fiery as the first drama. After over 3 hours of sweaty anticipation we finally got our visa stamped with the extension and we merrily pranced out of purgatory. Our bags packed, we road off to the east, hearts set to explore the second half of our figure eight adventure. We camped in a local baseball field where we met the local evangelical Christian baseball squad and they prayed for us and asked us to accept Jesus Christ in our little hearts. From there, we hit the hills hard at the Escaleras de Jaruco - a natural park that has a staircase into some caves and a lot of steep up and downs.
We stayed just outside the town of Bainoa with a small family, where the older kid was playing in a make shift pool made out of fruit cargo boxes. We camped in their backyard and contemplated the distant thunder cloudscape. Later we met their neighbors who welcomed us into their home for late night shower and conversation. It impacted us how loving and giving they were with their language. Calling us their love and their life as if we were their own children.
After a morning cup and few panels of honeycomb from their bee boxes, we bid farewell to the ever growing family and headed toward the nacional highway aka autopista aka ochovia aka the road where everyone drives fast and there’s not much to see. We pulled into a little town as per usual and met a family with a sweet outdoor pool in which Annina got a private twerk tutorial and sexy waterfall music video from two 8 year olds. The mother was healing from a diabetes injury and had her leg elevated the whole time we were there. We walked around their little food Forrest eating sweet corn and being fed peanuts.
After a night of sleep in a sunken bed the shape of a nest we pedaled onwards, we saw a sign for a agro Forrest farm so we turned in. It was a smooth dirt road surrounded by Forest and free roaming pigs. We surprised the sleeping guard who was taking a nap in the shade. He explained the farm was a timber operation. It’s a part of the Cienega de Zapata nature reserve but the night guards keep there pigs there and let them roam about in packs.
At this point we also realized we had lost our only multi tool, an essential for breaking down our bikes and reassembling at the airport. But not too worried we knew that “todo se resuelve en Cuba”(everything can be resolved). On our way to the coast by way of Playa Larga and Playa Girón, we came across an apiculture operation. A big truck where they were processing big barrels of local Forest honey. We walked in and they happily showed us how they processed the panels and the big barrels where all the larvae were, the centrifuge that separated the honey from the comb and then pumped into a big barrel. They insisted on giving us samples of honeycomb and as soon as we started leaving the bees were not happy. Unlike the workers we didn’t have any of the protective gear or nets. There was a bit of frantic maneuvering and dancing as they started stinging. Annina got her first bee sting on the upper lip. Ernesto wasn’t so lucky as he left with a lumpy forehead, itchy nose and a swollen left hand. Thankful for the gracious bee scolding, we waved goodbye with tears in our eyes.
We headed down a beautiful coastal route that enticed us to camp on a beach near it’s turquoise blue waters. Looks can be deceiving as what seemed like an idyllic campsite soon turned into an insect nightmare. As soon as dusk hit mosquitoes covered every piece of exposed skin. As we swatted and stumbled around the ants climbed up our feet and started biting. In search of respite Annina took a dip in the ocean and when she started drying off realized a scorpion that had been hiding in our towel had stung her butt. Suffice to say we fled the scene without looking back.
One of the more difficult challenges we had on our trip was balancing taking time for ourselves and entertaining for the multitudes of family that so generously hosted us. Sometimes we just wanted to lay down and pass out but with little kids it’s hard to ignore how excited and curious they are. So was the case just outside of Playa Girón. We stayed with a family that had an energetic bunch of children that wanted to do it all: dance, play, sing, paint, acrobatics, run. And even though some days you’re exhausted it’s the least you can do to just make them smile and laugh and learn a bit from each other through playing.
We left early the next morning for the turning point of our journey the historic city of Cienfuegos. We entered the city with one task to acquire the tools we had lost. We left the city with a roll of packing tape and a 5mm Allen key. Not bad but not ideal either. That meant we would have to swing back into Habana and hope we could find what we needed there. As the clouds began to menace we stopped in a town where a man offered us coconuts from his yard. It just so happens that relatives from Miami(unofficial state of Cuba) were visiting. Eventually the sky split and the thunder was ear shatteringly close. It was the most intense storm that we witnessed in our time in Cuba. There was an unspoken tension when the power when out but soon the storm eased and as happens with these types of gatherings, we soon became enmeshed with the family.
We played songs, danced, and shared stories. We left the next morning after exchanging some chia seeds for some local cucumber seeds and eating oatmeal at grandmas house while watching some morning dubstep on television.
We biked through endless fields of sugar cane and as the clouds rolled in we took refuge with a lady who had recently lost one of her breasts to cancer. She was a spunky old lady with a sarcastic tone and an ability to make people laugh at her dark sense of humor. After refilling on mangoes and obtaining a few rarely found slices of cheese, the road beckoned and we ended up in our second night at a local beisbol field. We usually take breaks during the heat of the day to nap and eat something.
At one such stop, a tragedy befell our musical duo when the bikes toppled over(it happens sometimes) and our quijada, the horse jaw musical instrument we had found in Mexico, finally snapped in two. Your rickety vibrations will be missed till we come across something else on the road, our sweet jawbone. Often times when we were running low on water we just had to ask around and we usually could fill our bladders and maybe get some cold watah for the hydro flask. We arrived at the town of Cabezas, in the heat of the day. We asked for water and were welcomed in to their patio to take a break and play dominoes. This quickly escalated into a dance party(first our feet were cleansed with rum), an acrobatic show and then a piano karaoke sing along. We had such a good time with this family as they showed us around their avocado orchard and showed us how to drop bunches of mamoncillo fruit from the trees. We were already dozing off to sleep when they woke us up for a lil flan night cap. We were very grateful for the energy and warmth that this family welcomed us with. We were heading now into some hill country we decided to head back to Bainoa where we stayed with the homies. There we had our first day of rest after pedaling for weeks straight. We did some laundry in an old school machine, patched some clothes, napped so hard, ate equally so, all the while our lil neighborhood friend who we had just taught some basic ukulele to strummed and plucked the instrument with reckless abandon.
We retraced our wheel tread through the gnarly climbs of Jaruco and into a horse farming village where we were asking around if anyone knew where we could find a horse jaw. Being a state operation they seemed to not want us around but one man offered us directions to where the military drops off it’s bone and carcasses. Obviously we had to check it out. We biked off the beaten path and came across the only spirulina farm in Cuba and got some tablets from the lady in charge of logistics. Then after a couple of turns in the hills we came across the mountains of bones.
The smell was really intense and putrid. One pile we came up to was swarmed with vultures. Of course this was Annina’s dream environment. We left as the storm clouds teased us on the road and we stopped in the local square of Tapaste to make some lunch and hide out from the rain under the gazebo. As the clouds cleared we randomly were approached by a guy promoting a local festival in a nearby town apparently it was gonna be a tattoo expo and heavy metal concert. We decided to go check out this festival so we biked to the outskirts of San Jose de las Lajas.
We came up to a house where a man was working on some carpentry outside and asked if we could camp in his yard. He welcomed us in, introduced us to his partner and invited us to cool of in his pool. He told us he was a professional improvisational poet. He practiced in the style of repentismo brought over from Spain. It’s popularly performed in agricultural communities through out Cuba. Their kids were extremely high energy; the kind that talk a mile a minute, yell, laugh, jump, cry and ask a million questions all before you can figure out what’s going on. We also met one of their close friends who just so happened to be an unofficial promoter for this festival we had heard about. He was a very animated character who passionately sang along with the songs he listened to and had amazing facial dexterity. Annina loves him immediately because he looked like a Cuban punk version of her good friend Sasha. We made our way to check out the festival in the morning and ran into our new homie, Cuban-Sasha, along the way. The tattoo artists were setting up as we got there and after a while a procession of bikers came into the area with their Harleys and old school motorcycles.
We knew we weren’t going to be able to stay long because we wanted to make it into Habana and find our bike tool. So we went back to pack up, let the kids play on our bikes for a bit and pedaled into the city. We asked around when we got there and a few misleading hits made us realize we weren’t gonna be able to find all the tools we needed. So we went to a spot where a man ran a bike shop out of his house and swapped the necessary stuff to be able to disassemble and reassemble our bikes at the airports.
We stayed a night at a Casa Particular and left in the morning to go pick up our bike boxes. On the way to the outskirts of Havana towards the airport we decided to stop by the airport and ask about the legality of bringing a cow skull through customs. After being passed around a few times I was told that if it was checked with the bike box there would be no issue. So happily we pedaled off to pick up our bike boxes from the lady gatekeeper who had been safekeeping them for ya for the past month. We biked past her place of work and by luck she was working a shift that night so she sent off some of her friends to bring the boxes for us. Reunited, we strapped them to our bikes and biked down the road about where a family let us camp on their roof terrace for the night. The next day we made our way to the family that first introduced us to the Cuban way in Cuba tobacco. It was great to see them again and spend our last day in Cuba catching up on what we had learned and seen. We also learned from Miguel the method of hot patching bike tubes and tires. It was strange to wake up somewhere in the countryside, bike only a few kilometers to the airport, disassemble our bikes and in only an hour we were in a major Americanized Mexican City. We were already through customs and
a few steps away from officially crossing into Cancun. One of our bike boxes triggered the customs agent because it looked like we had food in it(no seeds, fresh produce, insects, anything that can bring in a plague of sorts). Annina realized she had some garlic in the box and we had to open the box and start pulling stuff out. And then the customs agent was surprised to find the cow skull and was like “How did they not catch this? This is totally not legal” soo close! Well it had a nice long tour across half of Cuba and we bid it farewell before crossing the sliding doors. We assembled our bikes with the help of some velvet underground music and off we went into a world so foreign from the one we had just been living in for over a month. I could only imagine what it’s like for Cubans who leave the county for the first time must be trip. A big thank you to all the people who became a part of our family in Cuba, we learned what it really means to share a part of ourselves. After a night stay with our lifeguard couch surfing homie we hit the road with sights set for Tulum where we are reuniting with Nina’s Dad and stepmom. The road from Cancun to Tulum is lined with resorts and all inclusive packages where the access to the beach has been privatized. The number one spot in the world for resorts per capita. It’s really boring scenery on a bicycle. Just shuttle buses and exaggerated entry ways. We stopped in Playa del Carmen for a day and ran into my Tio Pedro who was traveling with his family on vacation it was good to reconnect with my cousin from Scotland who I hadn’t seen in years and walk around aimlessly in the consumer district. We were hosted by our first Warm Showers experience of the trip. An inspiring basque couple who had already travelled from Canada to Patagonia and we’re kindred traveling spirits. We’ve now made it to Tulum awaiting the reunion of family and happy to relax for a bit from the constant road rash, sweaty sleep, and incessant insects.
Here’s the video update!
(Warning: contains short scenes of artistic nudity)
Any new interactions that have really opened your eyes? Any dreams that have made you confused? Any food that has changed your life?
Hit us up. Let us know keep us updated on what we’re missing out on in your life.
As always,
Sweaty vinegary hugs and itchy hifives,
Annina & Ernesto
No comments:
Post a Comment