Saturday, 7th of the 7th 2007, saw us setting out from Dromineer in the now customary rain. It has to rain as we are setting out, but doesn't last long. Neil Arlidge and friends had headed for Garrykennedy in his narrow boat earlier in the day, so we headed there to join them.
There was no sign of their boat as we neared Garry. Just as we entered the harbour we realised that they were in the old, high-walled harbout. We turned around and headed for there. We managed to get in easily, but feared for our ability to get out again as it was too small to turn in.
The afternoon and evening was warm and sunny. We chatted while the dogs raced around excitedly. Leavy was particularly hyper and enjoyed leaping the large distance up and down to the boat. A certain amount of alcoholic beverage was consumed before we went up to Larkins for a nice meal. The new upholstered seats in the boat are very comfortable and serviceable. Leavy thought they were great to leap on, but they are easy to wipe afterwards.
By the time darkness fell there were 4 sailing boats in the harbour rafted out from the far wall, ourselves, and Neil's narrow-boat. When we got up the following morning there was a Shannon Castle Line cruiser moored at the entrance to the harbour that had joined us at some stage.
Sunday morning was bright and sunny at 7am when Leavy decided we had had enough sleep. The only consolation from our early start was that we did get the best part of the day. I managed to put some linseed oil on the barge pole and b worked away at various bits and pieces. Then it rained, so it was time to set off!
We were home mid afternoon, where Ian was guarding the house.
09/07/2007
17/06/2007
Time to get started
Saturday 16th June and it is our first sail on Knocknagow this year. We had hoped to get started earlier but had problems with replacing a disintegrated oil filter. There was a "eureka" moment on Thursday when Paul, of Shannon Sailing, called to say the problem was fixed. It seemed to good to be true as we were afraid we might have had to replace the engine sooner than we had expected to.
Getting to Dromineer on Saturday was slower than normal as we had to bring up so much equipment for the first sail of the year. We wanted to pump out the holding tank when we got there, and this gave a great excuse to bring Knocknagow near to the car - hence, less carrying long distances.
You have never seen so many big spiders all in one boat.... As we took off the metal protectors from the windows they came at us from all directions. I bravely eliminated as many as I could get, with Ian brushing them away from the outside. I later cleaned the windows as they had made a terrible mess.
It took ages to do the pumping as the various connecting bits weren't connecting. However, we eventually got away at about 5pm. Rain started to fall and things were a bit gloomy, though the engine was making nice sounds and Brian had managed to turn Knocknagow beautifully in the harbour.
By the time we reached the far side of the lake the clouds had cleared and the wind had gone. We had intended to go to Dromaan as we had not been in to the new harbour for some years. However, the suspicious numbers of large cruisers heading that direction made us feel that maybe there was a party going on there. Indeed, this seems to have been the case, so another lively turning was accomplished by Brian and we headed off in the direction of Garrykennedy.
A look through the binoculars seemed to suggest that there would be space on the barge quay in Garrykennedy as most of the boats already there were moored on the finger jetties.
Just as we reached there two young teenagers in a rib waved at us and seemed to be in distress. They didn't have a bow line and it later transpired that it had gone under the boat and got caught in the prop. We lashed the boat alongside and reassured them that all was OK. They were brother and sister. The older one, the brother, had a speaking disorder so was a bit difficult to communicate with, and his sister was quite upset, perhaps being the one feeling the most responsible. They were a lovely pair and it was great to be able to help them. Their parents met us at the jetty, having seen them already alongside us and having come out on their boat to see if they could help too.
Once we were settled I took out the barbecue. It was mouldy, but heated up and cleaned up nicely, so we had a good meal of steak.
It was Leavy's first trip on the boat and she took it all in her stride. She looked as if she was going to jump off through gaps in the netting, but didn't actually go into the water. She was very excited. The other two acted as the older citiaens who knew the score.
It is a lot nicer in the living area without the big table. The upholsterer is coming within the next 10 days to put in leather seats, which should it make it very comfortable in there.
Our return to Dromineer was without incident, and was very quick on the glassy lake. Knocknagow is now tied up again safely, ready for our next visit, which I hope will be soon.
Getting to Dromineer on Saturday was slower than normal as we had to bring up so much equipment for the first sail of the year. We wanted to pump out the holding tank when we got there, and this gave a great excuse to bring Knocknagow near to the car - hence, less carrying long distances.
You have never seen so many big spiders all in one boat.... As we took off the metal protectors from the windows they came at us from all directions. I bravely eliminated as many as I could get, with Ian brushing them away from the outside. I later cleaned the windows as they had made a terrible mess.
It took ages to do the pumping as the various connecting bits weren't connecting. However, we eventually got away at about 5pm. Rain started to fall and things were a bit gloomy, though the engine was making nice sounds and Brian had managed to turn Knocknagow beautifully in the harbour.
By the time we reached the far side of the lake the clouds had cleared and the wind had gone. We had intended to go to Dromaan as we had not been in to the new harbour for some years. However, the suspicious numbers of large cruisers heading that direction made us feel that maybe there was a party going on there. Indeed, this seems to have been the case, so another lively turning was accomplished by Brian and we headed off in the direction of Garrykennedy.
A look through the binoculars seemed to suggest that there would be space on the barge quay in Garrykennedy as most of the boats already there were moored on the finger jetties.
Just as we reached there two young teenagers in a rib waved at us and seemed to be in distress. They didn't have a bow line and it later transpired that it had gone under the boat and got caught in the prop. We lashed the boat alongside and reassured them that all was OK. They were brother and sister. The older one, the brother, had a speaking disorder so was a bit difficult to communicate with, and his sister was quite upset, perhaps being the one feeling the most responsible. They were a lovely pair and it was great to be able to help them. Their parents met us at the jetty, having seen them already alongside us and having come out on their boat to see if they could help too.
Once we were settled I took out the barbecue. It was mouldy, but heated up and cleaned up nicely, so we had a good meal of steak.
It was Leavy's first trip on the boat and she took it all in her stride. She looked as if she was going to jump off through gaps in the netting, but didn't actually go into the water. She was very excited. The other two acted as the older citiaens who knew the score.
It is a lot nicer in the living area without the big table. The upholsterer is coming within the next 10 days to put in leather seats, which should it make it very comfortable in there.
Our return to Dromineer was without incident, and was very quick on the glassy lake. Knocknagow is now tied up again safely, ready for our next visit, which I hope will be soon.
07/01/2007
Havana again
When we reached Havana we got a taxi with a number of other bus passengers to our house. Several streets were blocked off in preparation for the December 2nd celebrations and rows and rows of tanks and armoured cars lined the blocked-off streets (it was going to be a military parade).
Diane and family were as welcoming as ever when we got there. In a way it was quite relaxing to return to our sort-of home. We asked Diane if we could eat there that evening (it was about 5.30 by then) but she hadn't got enough food in so instead we went off to find Trattoria Markos, an Italian restaurant near Hotel Nacional that we'd tried to find before.
Trattoria Markos was quite nice really. It was pretty sparse, as Cuban restaurants generally are, but the food was lovely. We both had pizzas with lots of tasty coriander on top. However, the house wine was disgusting.
The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful - we were tired after our horse-riding and travelling, and we'd taken the sun more than a little (I had anyway), so we went to bed early enough (again).
Diane and family were as welcoming as ever when we got there. In a way it was quite relaxing to return to our sort-of home. We asked Diane if we could eat there that evening (it was about 5.30 by then) but she hadn't got enough food in so instead we went off to find Trattoria Markos, an Italian restaurant near Hotel Nacional that we'd tried to find before.
Trattoria Markos was quite nice really. It was pretty sparse, as Cuban restaurants generally are, but the food was lovely. We both had pizzas with lots of tasty coriander on top. However, the house wine was disgusting.
The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful - we were tired after our horse-riding and travelling, and we'd taken the sun more than a little (I had anyway), so we went to bed early enough (again).
Horse-riding into the wilderness
The next morning we breakfasted at seven to be ready for our horseriding at eight. We were somewhat dismayed to find a horrid red beetle (or maybe even a cockroach) in our hot milk, particularly since Mum had spotted Bartolo sieving the milk earlier, presumably to remove other nasties which had clambered in overnight. But this is Cuba, so we drank our milk anyway.
The guy who was bringing us horseriding was not an official guide, so the whole enterprise felt distinctly dodgy. We were to follow our guide through town at a distance so nobody would know, for example.
The horses were plodding creatures, described as tranquil but really just lazy. This was fine most of the way, but the problem with drinking coffee for breakfast is that it makes you need to go to the toilet mid-morning, so by the end of our journey I really wished the horse would hurry up.
We got a much better view of the valley on horseback than we did on foot, both because of the additional height and because we travelled so much further. Our guide wasn't particularly verbose which suited us just fine; it's quite tiring straining to understand all the time, and Vinales is all about the view. However, our understanding of Spanish is definitely coming on though it is difficult to find the words to respond in a conversation.
We wandered along between field after field of tobacco, sugar cane and whatever other crops they were growing. There were men irrigating the crops using a hose and a big pump, draining a small pool/lake-type thing.
After a while plodding along, just when our legs were really starting to ache, we stopped in a bamboo grove and tied up the horses (not that they would have wandered off anyway - far too lazy). The guide took us along a path which led to a rushing stream and the mouth of a big cave. The water was really cool, having been underground.
Entrance to cave
We thought we were just being shown this rather spectacular entrance to the cave when a local farmer appeared carrying several torches. We were led into the cave itself, led by our two guides with their torches.
Inside, the cave was quite tall and wide, with loads of stagnant pools which we had to leap over. Some of the bigger pools had wooden planks serving as bridges, but both the wood and the rocks were very slippy so the guides had to help us along a bit.
We went quite far into the cave and I must admit I was a little nervous. I had two big fears: snakes or crocodiles leaping out of the water and attacking us, and being attacked by the two men and abandoned in the dark.
But of course both those fears were somewhat irrational, and nothing bad happened to us. Eventually we reached a fast-flowing underground river and turned around to go back, but not before the guides did the auld Ailwee Caves trick and turned off the torches. I think our guide felt a little foolish when his torch wouldn't turn back on again (it did start working later).
I think we were both glad we went to the Cueva del Indio before this cave - other way around and we would have found the Cueva del Indio very disappointing.
After the cave we climbed back aboard the horses and went traipsing along again. Our next port of call was a little wooden shack thing with piglets running around in the sugarcane outside. This is where our guide's friend Chico was.
'loco' Chico (standing) and our guide (sitting)
This was one of my favourite events of the holiday, although it wasn't particularly fun as such (the language barrier was a little uncomfortable). Chico, who our guide kept describing as 'loco', was sitting in his little hut with a cowboy hat and jeans, chopping the tops off coconuts with his machete. Then he poured in rum, sugar and assorted fruit, despite it only being 10am. Then he and Mr Guide started rolling cigars and chopping the tops off with the machete. There was a Dutch (?) couple there when we arrived, who were enjoying the rum and cigars, then a German couple arrived, complete with antibacterial hand spray. They didn't want rum or cigars, and looked really quite uncomfortable.
There's not much more to say about the horse journey - we headed back to Vinales through similarly beautiful scenery but I was mostly distracted by needing to pee.
We got back to the house, showered and had a sandwich (and more delicious orange juice), then our host insisted on walking us to the bus, carrying Mum's bag on his back.
The Viazul bus to Havana wasn't anywhere near as nice as the one to Trinidad but it got us there.
The guy who was bringing us horseriding was not an official guide, so the whole enterprise felt distinctly dodgy. We were to follow our guide through town at a distance so nobody would know, for example.
The horses were plodding creatures, described as tranquil but really just lazy. This was fine most of the way, but the problem with drinking coffee for breakfast is that it makes you need to go to the toilet mid-morning, so by the end of our journey I really wished the horse would hurry up.
We got a much better view of the valley on horseback than we did on foot, both because of the additional height and because we travelled so much further. Our guide wasn't particularly verbose which suited us just fine; it's quite tiring straining to understand all the time, and Vinales is all about the view. However, our understanding of Spanish is definitely coming on though it is difficult to find the words to respond in a conversation.
We wandered along between field after field of tobacco, sugar cane and whatever other crops they were growing. There were men irrigating the crops using a hose and a big pump, draining a small pool/lake-type thing.
After a while plodding along, just when our legs were really starting to ache, we stopped in a bamboo grove and tied up the horses (not that they would have wandered off anyway - far too lazy). The guide took us along a path which led to a rushing stream and the mouth of a big cave. The water was really cool, having been underground.
Entrance to cave
We thought we were just being shown this rather spectacular entrance to the cave when a local farmer appeared carrying several torches. We were led into the cave itself, led by our two guides with their torches.
Inside, the cave was quite tall and wide, with loads of stagnant pools which we had to leap over. Some of the bigger pools had wooden planks serving as bridges, but both the wood and the rocks were very slippy so the guides had to help us along a bit.
We went quite far into the cave and I must admit I was a little nervous. I had two big fears: snakes or crocodiles leaping out of the water and attacking us, and being attacked by the two men and abandoned in the dark.
But of course both those fears were somewhat irrational, and nothing bad happened to us. Eventually we reached a fast-flowing underground river and turned around to go back, but not before the guides did the auld Ailwee Caves trick and turned off the torches. I think our guide felt a little foolish when his torch wouldn't turn back on again (it did start working later).
I think we were both glad we went to the Cueva del Indio before this cave - other way around and we would have found the Cueva del Indio very disappointing.
After the cave we climbed back aboard the horses and went traipsing along again. Our next port of call was a little wooden shack thing with piglets running around in the sugarcane outside. This is where our guide's friend Chico was.
'loco' Chico (standing) and our guide (sitting)
This was one of my favourite events of the holiday, although it wasn't particularly fun as such (the language barrier was a little uncomfortable). Chico, who our guide kept describing as 'loco', was sitting in his little hut with a cowboy hat and jeans, chopping the tops off coconuts with his machete. Then he poured in rum, sugar and assorted fruit, despite it only being 10am. Then he and Mr Guide started rolling cigars and chopping the tops off with the machete. There was a Dutch (?) couple there when we arrived, who were enjoying the rum and cigars, then a German couple arrived, complete with antibacterial hand spray. They didn't want rum or cigars, and looked really quite uncomfortable.
There's not much more to say about the horse journey - we headed back to Vinales through similarly beautiful scenery but I was mostly distracted by needing to pee.
We got back to the house, showered and had a sandwich (and more delicious orange juice), then our host insisted on walking us to the bus, carrying Mum's bag on his back.
The Viazul bus to Havana wasn't anywhere near as nice as the one to Trinidad but it got us there.
06/01/2007
Walking around the mogotes
We breakfasted at 8am the next morning so we'd be ready for our walk at 9. The lovely Dutch people ate with us again. They've hired a car and are driving around Cuba. Apparently there's only one radio station they can pick up strongly in their car and you'll never guess what it is! I was expecting them to say something equivalent to Capitol 'Gold', but it's WORSE! It's a station playing karaoke tracks! Oh this is one of the funniest things I've heard in my whole time in Cuba.
After our breakfast (I wonder do Cubans ever get bored of cafe con leche, bread, fruit salad and omelette?) we wandered down to the travel agency we'd booked our hike with. Our guide was called Sandra (a name which could be from any country, as she repeatedly assured us), and there were 14 of us in the walking group, our numbers swelled by a tour group of English and Australians. They were all rather nice; it seemed to be a budget tour so there were lots of student types and back-packers.
We learnt so many interesting things on our walk. We started by visiting a farm which grows tobacco. Farms are given a tobacco quota which they must reach each year. At the farm we visited this meant growing and transplanting 100,000 plants by hand each year (tobacco seeds are impossibly tiny so you just scatter a load and when they grow a little you plant them out in straight lines).
Once the tobacco has grown, it must be harvested, also by hand. The leaves must be harvested layer by layer because they're used for different things, for example one is filler, another is the outer layer. And you can pick the leaves in two ways, either by slicing the stalk (quicker) or by plucking each leaf individually (worth more money). Then the leaves must be hung up to dry. If they've been harvested in pairs by slicing the stalk they hang nice and simply on the poles, but if they've been plucked individually they have to be threaded onto a long piece of string by the stalk. Mrs tourguide told us that from seed to cigar, tobacco undergoes 138 processes. So I kind of understand why they're so expensive.
Last season's tobacco drying
There were mangy dogs following us all the way, so we also discovered that once the local dog population gets out of control they round them up and either poison them or feed them to the crocodiles in the local crocodile farm. I normally love dogs, but in this case I pity the crocodiles.
We clambered part of the way up one of the mogotes and through a cave short enough not to need artificial light to get to the other side. At the bottom we rested and recuperated with a spot of fruit at a fruit farm where we bought some fresh coffee beans, beautifully packaged in a 500ml plastic water bottle. They smell delicious.
The other people in the group were interesting too. I got chatting to an Australian girl the same age as me who wants to be a TV or radio producer. She's just got a job with ABC so she's on her way. It was nice chatting to someone with similar interests to me. There was also an Australian who'd been to the recent International Rules match in Galway, so we talked about the violence there; and French and Canadian couples who were also lovely.
At the end of our hike the mangiest dog killed a chicken and left it on the roadside. We were rather disgusted to see a man deciding whether to eat it.
After our hike we headed back to our house for lunch (ham and cheese toasted sandwich with more freshly squeezed orange juice). We lazed in our rocking chairs a little while before finally motivating ourselves to get out of our seats and do something.
We hung around the village square for a while trying to motivate ourselves to do something touristy. We'd missed the green bus (5CUC for a day pass taking you to all the local attractions) by a few seconds and it would be about an hour before it appeared again, so we decided to take a taxi to the Cueva del India.
The Cueva del India is one of the main tour bus stops in the region, something clearly reflected in the 5CUC entry price. The cave was rediscovered in the 1920s and became known as the Cueva del India despite there being no evidence to suggest that it was ever more than a temporary resting place for Indians.
Entrance to the cave
The cave is impressively large, much taller and wider than the Ailwee Caves at home. Unfortunately as we entered the cave I suddenly thought of how frequently the power goes off in Cuba, and how terrifying it would be to be stuck in a pitch-black cave. I kindly shared this thought with Mum, so we both scurried through the cave rather quicker than we otherwise would have done.
About half way through the cave you come to a pool/river type thing and you complete the journey by boat. It's quite nice to get to do that really, but the whole trip only took about twenty minutes, which was a little disappointing.
I was very disorientated when we left the cave - the bus park was there but none of the other bits like the restaurant or entrance or anything. It took us a few minutes to realise that there were two bus parks and that the buses moved to this one from the one around the corner once they'd dropped off their passengers.
There were no taxis lurking around so we climbed aboard the green bus which arrived shortly. We'd half considered going to the Hotel La Ermita for a swim but we really were feeling lazy so instead we hung around the town a little more and checked our emails.
That evening we returned to the porch for more sitting. A German staying with our next-door neighbour called over for a chat. He had the most hilarious accent, right out of 'Allo 'Allo, so let's refer to him as Hans. He was trying to persuade us to do the six-hour hike on Tuesday, but since we were leaving at 2pm we didn't have time. So we chatted about Havana instead. He was very passionate about all sorts of things. He felt Paseo, in Centro Havana, was "ze prime example of how ze communism cannot exist".
Much entertained by our chat with Hans, we returned to our reading and writing. But lo! There was another power cut.
Our neighbour (who Hans had informed us was an active member of the whatever Cuba's political party is called) had two other guests who were also sitting on their porch in rocking chairs, and I felt they had the right approach to power cuts. They had lit a candle and were listening to jazz (possibly Stefan Grappelli) while smoking cigars. Lovely.
When the power returned (yes! In Vinales, city of wonders, power does return) we struck up a conversation with these guys and found they were American, no less. They'd entered Cuba through Mexico as proper outlaws should. It was fascinating talking to them, and realising that the American ban on travel to Cuba really is only America's, that Cuba is quite happy to allow Americans to enter. In fact, this is why your passport is not stamped to say you've been to Cuba. Instead, you must carry your stamped tourist visa with your passport while in Cuba. Clever, really: now we won't feel nervous about travelling to America with a Cuban stamp in our passports.
Obviously these guys, having decided to break the law (maximum fines: Helms-Burton Act $50,000, Trading with the Enemy Act $250,000), are quite pro-Cuba and not into the closed mindset of the Bush administration. But maybe the return of the Democrats and the impending death of Castro will change things.
Anyway, how very odd it must be travelling and not being able to bring back any evidence of your visit: no photos beside recognisable monuments, no souvenirs, no postcards, even having to leave your ticket stubs in Mexico. Fascinating to think people are prevented from going where they like in the "land of the free".
We had dinner with our new companions, the Dutch couple having left that morning. The new guys were Spanish so our host liked them and fed them lobster. We just had fish. But they were very nice: one spoke reasonable English and the other understood but didn't speak much. He had the greatest laugh, he laughed as if everything was the funniest thing in the world, a real belly laugh. You couldn't help but like him. Our host called him a girl for wanting milk with his coffee so he added some rum, which also entertained me.
Vinales not being known for its nightlife, we retired to bed early for a change.
After our breakfast (I wonder do Cubans ever get bored of cafe con leche, bread, fruit salad and omelette?) we wandered down to the travel agency we'd booked our hike with. Our guide was called Sandra (a name which could be from any country, as she repeatedly assured us), and there were 14 of us in the walking group, our numbers swelled by a tour group of English and Australians. They were all rather nice; it seemed to be a budget tour so there were lots of student types and back-packers.
We learnt so many interesting things on our walk. We started by visiting a farm which grows tobacco. Farms are given a tobacco quota which they must reach each year. At the farm we visited this meant growing and transplanting 100,000 plants by hand each year (tobacco seeds are impossibly tiny so you just scatter a load and when they grow a little you plant them out in straight lines).
Once the tobacco has grown, it must be harvested, also by hand. The leaves must be harvested layer by layer because they're used for different things, for example one is filler, another is the outer layer. And you can pick the leaves in two ways, either by slicing the stalk (quicker) or by plucking each leaf individually (worth more money). Then the leaves must be hung up to dry. If they've been harvested in pairs by slicing the stalk they hang nice and simply on the poles, but if they've been plucked individually they have to be threaded onto a long piece of string by the stalk. Mrs tourguide told us that from seed to cigar, tobacco undergoes 138 processes. So I kind of understand why they're so expensive.
Last season's tobacco drying
There were mangy dogs following us all the way, so we also discovered that once the local dog population gets out of control they round them up and either poison them or feed them to the crocodiles in the local crocodile farm. I normally love dogs, but in this case I pity the crocodiles.
We clambered part of the way up one of the mogotes and through a cave short enough not to need artificial light to get to the other side. At the bottom we rested and recuperated with a spot of fruit at a fruit farm where we bought some fresh coffee beans, beautifully packaged in a 500ml plastic water bottle. They smell delicious.
The other people in the group were interesting too. I got chatting to an Australian girl the same age as me who wants to be a TV or radio producer. She's just got a job with ABC so she's on her way. It was nice chatting to someone with similar interests to me. There was also an Australian who'd been to the recent International Rules match in Galway, so we talked about the violence there; and French and Canadian couples who were also lovely.
At the end of our hike the mangiest dog killed a chicken and left it on the roadside. We were rather disgusted to see a man deciding whether to eat it.
After our hike we headed back to our house for lunch (ham and cheese toasted sandwich with more freshly squeezed orange juice). We lazed in our rocking chairs a little while before finally motivating ourselves to get out of our seats and do something.
We hung around the village square for a while trying to motivate ourselves to do something touristy. We'd missed the green bus (5CUC for a day pass taking you to all the local attractions) by a few seconds and it would be about an hour before it appeared again, so we decided to take a taxi to the Cueva del India.
The Cueva del India is one of the main tour bus stops in the region, something clearly reflected in the 5CUC entry price. The cave was rediscovered in the 1920s and became known as the Cueva del India despite there being no evidence to suggest that it was ever more than a temporary resting place for Indians.
Entrance to the cave
The cave is impressively large, much taller and wider than the Ailwee Caves at home. Unfortunately as we entered the cave I suddenly thought of how frequently the power goes off in Cuba, and how terrifying it would be to be stuck in a pitch-black cave. I kindly shared this thought with Mum, so we both scurried through the cave rather quicker than we otherwise would have done.
About half way through the cave you come to a pool/river type thing and you complete the journey by boat. It's quite nice to get to do that really, but the whole trip only took about twenty minutes, which was a little disappointing.
I was very disorientated when we left the cave - the bus park was there but none of the other bits like the restaurant or entrance or anything. It took us a few minutes to realise that there were two bus parks and that the buses moved to this one from the one around the corner once they'd dropped off their passengers.
There were no taxis lurking around so we climbed aboard the green bus which arrived shortly. We'd half considered going to the Hotel La Ermita for a swim but we really were feeling lazy so instead we hung around the town a little more and checked our emails.
That evening we returned to the porch for more sitting. A German staying with our next-door neighbour called over for a chat. He had the most hilarious accent, right out of 'Allo 'Allo, so let's refer to him as Hans. He was trying to persuade us to do the six-hour hike on Tuesday, but since we were leaving at 2pm we didn't have time. So we chatted about Havana instead. He was very passionate about all sorts of things. He felt Paseo, in Centro Havana, was "ze prime example of how ze communism cannot exist".
Much entertained by our chat with Hans, we returned to our reading and writing. But lo! There was another power cut.
Our neighbour (who Hans had informed us was an active member of the whatever Cuba's political party is called) had two other guests who were also sitting on their porch in rocking chairs, and I felt they had the right approach to power cuts. They had lit a candle and were listening to jazz (possibly Stefan Grappelli) while smoking cigars. Lovely.
When the power returned (yes! In Vinales, city of wonders, power does return) we struck up a conversation with these guys and found they were American, no less. They'd entered Cuba through Mexico as proper outlaws should. It was fascinating talking to them, and realising that the American ban on travel to Cuba really is only America's, that Cuba is quite happy to allow Americans to enter. In fact, this is why your passport is not stamped to say you've been to Cuba. Instead, you must carry your stamped tourist visa with your passport while in Cuba. Clever, really: now we won't feel nervous about travelling to America with a Cuban stamp in our passports.
Obviously these guys, having decided to break the law (maximum fines: Helms-Burton Act $50,000, Trading with the Enemy Act $250,000), are quite pro-Cuba and not into the closed mindset of the Bush administration. But maybe the return of the Democrats and the impending death of Castro will change things.
Anyway, how very odd it must be travelling and not being able to bring back any evidence of your visit: no photos beside recognisable monuments, no souvenirs, no postcards, even having to leave your ticket stubs in Mexico. Fascinating to think people are prevented from going where they like in the "land of the free".
We had dinner with our new companions, the Dutch couple having left that morning. The new guys were Spanish so our host liked them and fed them lobster. We just had fish. But they were very nice: one spoke reasonable English and the other understood but didn't speak much. He had the greatest laugh, he laughed as if everything was the funniest thing in the world, a real belly laugh. You couldn't help but like him. Our host called him a girl for wanting milk with his coffee so he added some rum, which also entertained me.
Vinales not being known for its nightlife, we retired to bed early for a change.
An evening in Vinales
We spent the rest of the afternoon just hanging around Vinales - having a hasty mojito in the bar, sitting in the square and strolling up and down the main street.
Propoganda appeared even on lamp-posts
Vinales is in Pinar del Rio, a region based around farming. The best tobacco in Cuba comes from Pinar del Rio, but locals are the butt of lots of aren't-they-stupid jokes around Cuba.
The region of Vinales is stunning, with big hills called mogotes. They're made of limestone, with very steep sides, and are apparently similar to the hills of Quilin in southern China. Our casa has lovely rocking chairs on the front porch where we can sit and gaze at the hills, so that's precisely what we did.
For the first time, we found ourselves sharing our casa with other guests. We met our two Dutch companions over dinner and had a lengthy chat with them about everything: politics, hustlers, intellectual property law, phone notes.... it was nice to find other people who'd found the hustlers exhausting, and they really had been targetted. At one point they went for a guided walk and found themselves trapped on an island with their guide and three others demanding money and the guy's shoes and shirt before they'd call a boat to pick them up! Not so nice.
We ended the evening by upsetting our host by choosing an 8CUC walking tour run by and English-speaking guide over the 5CUC Spanish tour he was offering. When in Cuba, speak Spanish was his argument, but I'm not sure it was an entirely rational one. Funny man, really - he didn't seem to really take to us at all during our stay. Never mind, he struck me as a chauvinist anyway.
Propoganda appeared even on lamp-posts
Vinales is in Pinar del Rio, a region based around farming. The best tobacco in Cuba comes from Pinar del Rio, but locals are the butt of lots of aren't-they-stupid jokes around Cuba.
The region of Vinales is stunning, with big hills called mogotes. They're made of limestone, with very steep sides, and are apparently similar to the hills of Quilin in southern China. Our casa has lovely rocking chairs on the front porch where we can sit and gaze at the hills, so that's precisely what we did.
For the first time, we found ourselves sharing our casa with other guests. We met our two Dutch companions over dinner and had a lengthy chat with them about everything: politics, hustlers, intellectual property law, phone notes.... it was nice to find other people who'd found the hustlers exhausting, and they really had been targetted. At one point they went for a guided walk and found themselves trapped on an island with their guide and three others demanding money and the guy's shoes and shirt before they'd call a boat to pick them up! Not so nice.
We ended the evening by upsetting our host by choosing an 8CUC walking tour run by and English-speaking guide over the 5CUC Spanish tour he was offering. When in Cuba, speak Spanish was his argument, but I'm not sure it was an entirely rational one. Funny man, really - he didn't seem to really take to us at all during our stay. Never mind, he struck me as a chauvinist anyway.
Off to Vinales, and a botanic garden
Excitingly, there was electricity when we woke up this morning. Trinidad is full of wonders. We had our breakfast (I had an omelette like the well-behaved guest I am), packed and waited for our transport to Vinales to arrive.
We had decided to travel on a Viazul mini-bus sold to us in the Cubanatur office. This mini-bus was to avoid Havana completely, taking us directly to Vinales in approximately 6 hours (standard transport would take nine hours). Sounded good.
But the mini-bus was more MPV than mini-bus and I was crammed into a seat really only big enough for two, with two Germans. There were three other Germans on the bus too, one of whom being the lady dancing with her knees in Casa de la Trova the night before. One of them, an exceptionally loud and annoying lady who chain-smoked rudely all the way, was hogging two seats in the front so she could flirt with the driver.
The journey was very hot and cramped, and we were rather surprised (though not displeased) to be turfed out on the outskirts of Havana so the Germans could be taken into Havana and we could be taken to Vinales by taxi. So that rather unmemorable journey took up the first half of the day, getting us to Vinales around 2.30. The last few miles were not much fun, with massive potholes on both sides of the road and lots of very sharp turns.
Vinales is lovely, and our casa is very comfortable. As soon as we arrived we were presented with freshly-squeezed orange juice, which was very welcome.
It's always hard to know what to do on the first afternoon you arrive somewhere. It starts getting dark shortly after five so there's not a lot of time if you haven't arrived until 2.30.
View from our Casa
On this particular afternoon we decided to go to the Jardin de Caridad, a very bizarre botanical garden on the edge of the town. It's bacically some family's garden and is far from the preened, well laid-out and clearly labelled gardens you'd get at home. Instead, it's a chaotic muddle of plants with dolls' heads on sticks, beer can trees and business card trees mixed in amongst the more standard fare.
But despite the haphazard nature of the garden, it's rather captivating. We were quite fortunate to arrive at the same time as a group of four Danish youths with a Cuban chaperone/guide (her precise role never really became apparent). As Danish is a bit of a niche language, she was communicating with them in English. We were given a guided tour of the garden by one of the guys who lives there, and she translated the whole lot. Most excellent indeed.
We got to see all sorts of fruit trees such as mango, pineapple, banana, coffee, cocoa and a whole load of foreign fruit I didn't really recognise. And there were hens running around and VULTURES in the trees. Wow!
The tour finished with a chance to sample all the delicious fruit they grow there. The pineapple may well have been the best I've tasted ever.
I should say, by the way, that the inside of the house (from the glimpse I caught) was just as eclectic as the garden, with pictures from magazines covering every square inch of the walls. I think I might turn out like those old ladies.
We had decided to travel on a Viazul mini-bus sold to us in the Cubanatur office. This mini-bus was to avoid Havana completely, taking us directly to Vinales in approximately 6 hours (standard transport would take nine hours). Sounded good.
But the mini-bus was more MPV than mini-bus and I was crammed into a seat really only big enough for two, with two Germans. There were three other Germans on the bus too, one of whom being the lady dancing with her knees in Casa de la Trova the night before. One of them, an exceptionally loud and annoying lady who chain-smoked rudely all the way, was hogging two seats in the front so she could flirt with the driver.
The journey was very hot and cramped, and we were rather surprised (though not displeased) to be turfed out on the outskirts of Havana so the Germans could be taken into Havana and we could be taken to Vinales by taxi. So that rather unmemorable journey took up the first half of the day, getting us to Vinales around 2.30. The last few miles were not much fun, with massive potholes on both sides of the road and lots of very sharp turns.
Vinales is lovely, and our casa is very comfortable. As soon as we arrived we were presented with freshly-squeezed orange juice, which was very welcome.
It's always hard to know what to do on the first afternoon you arrive somewhere. It starts getting dark shortly after five so there's not a lot of time if you haven't arrived until 2.30.
View from our Casa
On this particular afternoon we decided to go to the Jardin de Caridad, a very bizarre botanical garden on the edge of the town. It's bacically some family's garden and is far from the preened, well laid-out and clearly labelled gardens you'd get at home. Instead, it's a chaotic muddle of plants with dolls' heads on sticks, beer can trees and business card trees mixed in amongst the more standard fare.
But despite the haphazard nature of the garden, it's rather captivating. We were quite fortunate to arrive at the same time as a group of four Danish youths with a Cuban chaperone/guide (her precise role never really became apparent). As Danish is a bit of a niche language, she was communicating with them in English. We were given a guided tour of the garden by one of the guys who lives there, and she translated the whole lot. Most excellent indeed.
We got to see all sorts of fruit trees such as mango, pineapple, banana, coffee, cocoa and a whole load of foreign fruit I didn't really recognise. And there were hens running around and VULTURES in the trees. Wow!
The tour finished with a chance to sample all the delicious fruit they grow there. The pineapple may well have been the best I've tasted ever.
I should say, by the way, that the inside of the house (from the glimpse I caught) was just as eclectic as the garden, with pictures from magazines covering every square inch of the walls. I think I might turn out like those old ladies.
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