Fidel, Che y Cuba Libre

Habana (Havana)

The flight from Cancun to Havana takes less than an hour, but it feels like a different planet. Correction: a different time in history, closer to 1970. We both really enjoyed Havana, despite having been warned how bad it is. However, with our expectations sufficiently lowered, the annoyances were manageable. These included people asking for money, trying to get you onto their taxi or spinning you a yarn to feel sorry for them and to give them money. It's hard to say no, as foreign currency really is like gold here for them. In Cuba there are 2 currencies: the CUC is for foreigners and the peso is for locals. The CUC  is worth about 25 pesos, but they aren't easily convertible. Something costing 1 pesos will usually cost about 1 CUC for foreigners, though it is still cheap (a dinner can cost 6 CUCs, for example. If you pay less than 4 CUCs for food you may have to add another one later).

Che, their national hero, can be found on walls, doors and t-shirts across the country.

Havana is a strange city. There are thousands of classic cars interspersed with Russian-made taxies. That said, there isn't much traffic on the roads. There are always hundreds of people on the pavements, either walking, chatting or playing with friends. The streets themselves are surprisingly clean, with very limited amounts of litter. Most of the buildings are in dire need of paint, touch-ups or full blown reconstruction, and there is a shortage on lots of basics - both hotels we went to for breakfast had no toilet paper in the bathrooms. It is also almost impossible to buy anything which isn't a Che t-shirt. Even softdrinks or snacks are hard to come by. And it is always hot.

Some things in Cuba are strange. A life-size topless woman riding a chicken with a fork in hand is one of them.

The accommodation set up in Cuba is very interesting. There are a limited number of hotels, but there are thousands of Casas Particulares, which are private residences where one rents a room in the house of a local family. Being a communist country, even this is regulated to 2 rooms per house, and only if you have a permit. We stayed with a family of 6, spanning 4 generations of women. They had a cute toddler with a penchant for head-butting her 50 year-old doll. Casas particulares also remind us of visiting grandmothers, as they have old furniture, ancient photos and a desire to feed you until bursting. As a way of making extra money these homes offer meals as well, for a few CUCs. The choices are usually chicken, pork, shrimp or lobster, they all come with a soup starter and a dessert, as well as at least 4 starches, and all of them are truly delicious.

For all its dereliction, Habana is still a very pretty city.

Whilst in Havana we visited the Museo de la Revolucion, which detailed the heroic deeds of Fidel, Che, Raul and the gang as they took control of Cuba. Although dripping with propaganda, it is still an impressive story. We also visited many beautiful plazas, book shops (90% of books have Che or Fidel on the cover, and the rest are anti-American), art museums and cigar shops. And the cigars are seriously good, though we were fleeced by Orlando, a smooth-talking man who sold us over-priced, potentially fake, Montecristos. It was hard to argue with him, carrying his plastic bag of food rations.

Vinales

Vinales is about 150km west of Havana, or 3.5 hours by bus. And it is a beautiful place. It is lush, warm and in a beautiful valley littered with limestone cliffs shrouded in trees. When walking around the farms bordering the town it is hard to argue that ol' Fidel has got something right. Instead of battery chicken farms or pig factories, the farms here are what we read about as kids. There are chickens and pigs running around and the primary mode of transport is either horseback or a horse-drawn carriage. Farms also grow a number of different crops each, instead of a single crop. Most farms were growing combinations of mangoes, avocados, bananas, plantains, apples and the ever-present tobacco. We visited a tobacco shed where were shown how to make cigars. 

Marcelle sampling the good stuff. Our casa particular in Vinales was rather pink.

Our guide on one of our walks was Wilfredo, a chatty local. And boy was Wilfredo proud of his cock. Of the bird variety. It was the reigning cockfighting champion, it would seem, and although cockfighting is strictly illegal Wilfredo kept bringing our stilted Spanish conversation back to his prizefighter. I guess this is what passes for entertainment without foreign media or Internet.

On our idyllic walk through the farmlands of Vinales.

It was also in Vinales that Marcelle attempted to, and succeeded in, obtaining her third medal in spectacular wipeouts for the trip. If you can remember correctly Marcelle has had a volcano and a banana-boat wipeout to date, and in Vinales she added bicycle wipeout to that list. We were on a morning ride on a narrow road when Marcelle lost control of her machine and tumbled into the road next to a red car and right in front of a truck. Fortunately, other than bruises, scratches and a buckled wheel, she was okay, but we decided to walk back into town instead of risking wipeout 4.

The countryside just outside Vinales.

On one of the afternoons we decided to walk to a hilltop hotel for sundowners, but our walk was curtailed within 5 minutes by heavy rain which resulted in the 2 of us huddled underneath Marcelle's  umbrella, stranded where we were. Our situation worsened 10 minutes later when a thunderstorm developed, and we were eventually offered respite on a local family's porch. Our conversation was, once again, stilted, but this time the reason was less to do with our poor Spanish and more to do with the fact that they were blind drunk (borracho) on cheap local rum. After pouring some on the floor to please the saints we were soon drinking from the bottle and feeling woozy as well.

Being shown how to roll genuine cigars by a tobacco farmer.

Trinidad de Cuba 

Trinidad lies east of both Havana and Vinales, and takes 6 hours by taxi to get there from Vinales. And what an uncomfortable taxi it was. I think the last time that car saw cushioning was before the revolution. Trinidad sits between some relatively high mountains and the sea, and is Cuba's 3rd oldest settlement, dating back 500 years. It is known for its coffee and sugarcane plantations - whilst there we even tried a fresh lemonade squeezed straight from the sugar cane, which was yummy.

Fidel and his revolution-starting boat the Granma (seriously), this time adorning a rural water tank.

Whilst in Trinidad we visited their beach, went horseback riding again (this time to a lovely pool in the forest) and went for a long, steep walk to a waterfall, via an old coffee plantation and museum. They like their coffee here like they like their women: strong, black and sweet. It kept us up the one night, it was so strong. It was either the coffee or the music blaring from the nearby plaza where they were celebrating a festival.

Overlooking one of the many beautiful vistas in Cuba.

Some of the 60,000 classic cars on Cuban roads.

The calm before the storm

The next few weeks comprised of a rather eclectic mix of reasons to lie around not doing much.

The only exception to this was a trip to the ruins of Chichen Itza. These ruins consist of one imposing temple, surrounded by a number of other somewhat less impressive crumbling structures.

 At the temple in Chichen Itza.

After wandering around the ruins, and sweating off half our body weight, we hopped on a bus followed by a ferry to the beautiful island of Holbox.

Holbox

If anyone asked you to imagine the perfect island setting, this was it. Fine white beaches with clear blue water, breathtaking sunsets and a quaint little village with friendly locals. Of course, this was when Erik and I got sick, and spent most of the time in our room convalescing. We did manage to get in one lovely bicycle ride around the island before our respective ailments (an ear infection for Erik, a throat virus for me) struck.

Picture perfect!

After four days of relative island bliss, we took the ferry back to the mainland for our next destination: Tulum.

Tulum

The town of Tulum is not very appealing and resembles a noisy truck stop rather than a holiday destination. What makes it an attraction for travellers are its exceptional beaches located about 3km from the CBD. After taking a taxi to the beach we realized that the only place we could afford to stay amidst all the fancy resorts was a little shack on the beach. Other than its proximity to the ocean, it had very little going for it. The 'cabin' consisted of rough sticks cobbled together with large gaps in between (presumably so that the many bugs on the beach would also have somewhere to sleep). The bathroom stank of rotting animals. There was a consistently thick layer of sand on the floor and the 'shower' consisted of a cold water hose pipe sticking out of a wall. Erik, of course, loved it.

Having said that, the beach itself was very beautiful, with fine white sand and clear blue water.

We also visited the nearby ruins which were particularly impressive due to their spectacular ocean backdrop.

Awesome ocean backdrop at the Tulum ruins.

Our next brief stop, Playa del Carmen was nothing to write home about, so I won't.

Cozumel

After just one night in Playa del Carmen, we hopped on another ferry to the island of Cozumel. The island itself was very quaint and appeared to have lots of interesting things to do such as snorkelling, swimming and riding a scooter around the coast. Unfortunately, we didn't get to do any of these due to a tropical storm that had us holed up in our room for three solid days. The rain didn't stop for a minute, streets were flooded, children were kept home from school, it was even on the local news. Our most exciting outing was a walk in the rain to watch The Great Gatsby at the cinema. Sadly, we left before we really got to enjoy the island much, but it was still a lovely place, and we choose to remember it that way.

(all our photos are pretty waterlogged, so unfortunately none are included)

Isla mujeres

We then headed to another island, Isla Mujeres (Women Island), hoping our luck with the weather would change. After a day or two of more rain, the weather finally cleared up, and we could begin our visit in earnest.

The island itself is also very quaint, with a pleasant coastline and a number of bustling pedestrian walkways. On day three, after the rain finally stopped, we rented some bicycles and took a ride to the local turtle sanctuary where they breed turtles and then set them free into the ocean.

Erik chilling with a baby turtle.

Erik sipping on a local drink called a Michelada (beer, salt, lime and tomato juice - tasty!)

The following day, we booked a boat trip to swim with the massive whale sharks which are known to frequent the ocean near the island. Naturally I was terrified (sharks, even the non-carnivorous kind, are not my favourite). Despite being convinced that I wouldn't return from the trip with all my limbs intact, we climbed on the boat at 8:30am and headed out. The water was incredibly choppy, and we spent most of the journey being jounced around and getting completely soaked. Due to the bad conditions, the sharks were really difficult to spot, and after six hours in the boat with no luck, we headed back (about which I felt a strange combination of relief and disappointment).

The fateful non-whaleshark swimming trip.

Erik would not be deterred, and promptly booked another trip for us on the day after next. On the morning of the second trip (perhaps in a instinctive attempt at self preservation) I started to get sick again, and I had to be left behind. Erik returned triumphant! He admitted that it was actually quite scary, and that I likely would have died from terror. So it all worked out well in the end.

Erik's close encounter of the whaleshark kind.

Cancun airport

It was finally time to return to the mainland to begin the next big leg of our journey to Cuba. Unfortunately, before we could leave, we had to endure a rather unpleasant ordeal at the airport. Erik is still so incensed that he can't bring himself to write about it in the blog. So I'll do my best to summarize:

As I've mentioned before, when entering Mexico through Tijuana, we had simply walked over the border as there were no officials anywhere to stamp our passports. At the time we thought this was really strange, but chalked it up to lax border control.

Two and a half months later, at the airport it turned out we would end up paying (literally) for this oversight. We had to visit the immigration office to sort out the mess. After standing in numerous queues and filling out endless forms, we stood before the grumpy immigration official desperate to get on with it so we could check in. The official, who Erik likes to refer to as 'the dickhead' gleefully proceeded to tell us we had to pay a hefty fine. Erik was not pleased. After much arguing and fist clenching, we ended up paying the fine anyway and were finally free to head off to Cuba. (Erik would like me to mention that he maliciously left a chewed piece of fingernail on the floor as retribution).

San Cristobal, Palenque y Merida

San Cristobal

From Oaxaca we took an overnight bus to San Cristobal, a quaint town with cobbled, narrow roads and a plethora of churches. We decided to spend a few days here, as it was so pleasant, and because we had a kick-ass room with skylights.

Whilst in San Cristobal we explored the surrounding areas via day trips. On the first trip we spent a fun 2 hours on a boat exploring the Sumidera Canyon, an impressive 25km stretch of dammed river with steep walls that reach a height of 1000m above the river in places. We also got to glimpse some crocodiles and some spider monkeys. The second trip, a couple of days later, saw us take in the colorful lakes of the Lagos Montibello region, right on the Guatamalan border. The afternoon part of the trip was even more spectacular as we got to walk and swim in the El Chiflon waterfall, an impressive, cascading wall of turquoise water.

Cruising through the canyon.

Walking through the pretty streets of San Cristobal.

Overlooking Lago Montebello

Swimming downstream of El Chiflon waterfall

Palenque 

The distance from San Cristobal to Palenque is only about 100km, but it took us almost 6 hours on the bus. There are a few reasons for this. Firstly, the road is incredibly hilly and windy - our front row, seatbelt-less seats were, in hindisght, not the best call. Secondly, it seemed that there is an ongoing inter-town speedbump competition, in which each municipality's goal is to outdo their neighbours in terms of number of bumps. Marcelle counted 94 speedbumps over the course of just 2 hours. Thirdly, we had a trainee driver who was yet to fully grasp that there were other vehicles on the road, and that both lanes weren't exclusively ours. Our front row seats were once again conducive to white knuckles and a need to send our underwear to the nearest lavanderia. When we finally did disembark in Palenque, kissing the ground as stepped off the death cabin, we were met by a wall of claustrophobic heat that was to be our unwanted companion for the next two days. It was hot and humid, unlike anything we had yet experienced.

But that didn't stop us enjoying Palenque's no. 1 attraction, their Mayan ruins (Palenque ruins). They really are impressive, reminiscent of Machu Picchu but in a low-altitude jungle setting. They have excavated just 2 square kilometers of the old city's 15 square kilometer area, but that is still too much to see in just 1 day. We got to walk through the palace, tombs, houses and even an old ball court, where the losing team were beheaded. Talk about pressure.

Overlooking the Palenque ruins

Palenque

More Palenque

Palenque was also memorable for where we stayed, which was a hippie community in the middle of the jungle. I have never before seen quite so many half-shaved heads and sandals. Fortunately at night time the sound of howler monkeys and the glow of fireflies distracted us from the lentil brigade.

Marcelle working out where best to position her recliner for an afternoon nap and G&T.

And finally finding the right spot.

Merida

From Palenque our next stop was Campeche, a town on the coast. And that last sentence is about as much effort as I can muster to describe our stay here.

Merida, a couple of hours north-east, is a quaint, historic city which was our base for 4 days. On one of our days in Merida we took a bus and visited the futuristic sounding town of Progresso, which is on the coast. This area is very important historically, as it is believed that the meteor responsible for eliminating the dinosaurs 65 million years ago and for bringing in an ice age struck nearby. One of the results of the meteor strike was to produce hundreds of cenotes (sinkholes) on the edge of the 300 km-wide crater. And it was to some of these that we spent time swimming and lounging about, as these cenotes are filled with beautifully clear and pure water. One we swam in was in an underground cave that added to the ambience, and another was in a jungle setting.

Swimming in the underground cenote

The jungle cenote

Marcelle swimming in the crystal clear cenote water.

The hostel we stayed in was a very well-equipped one, offering free yoga, salsa lessons and cooking classes. It was in one of these cooking classes, whilst making fajitas, that one of my Mexican foundations was shaken. It turns out that burritos are, unbelievably, not Mexican. Apparently they were introduced from Texas. We were also educated as to what a fajita refers to (the size of the chunks of meat in the dish). Who would have thought?

Daniel, our cooking instructor, teaching us how to cook local fare.