2016
“Obama is my President”, the fedora clad Cuban proclaimed when I told him we were from America. It was 3am; we landed in Havana on the late night flight from Mexico City, 4 hours later than the scheduled arrival. By the time we pulled up to our accommodation, all the doors were locked and the front desk was closed. Our taxi driver assured us that he would find us a place to stay. He spotted a fedora clad Cuban leaving the salsa club across the street and asked him to put us up for the night. He agreed to let his new American friends sleep at his apartment, since “Obama es mejor”.
The excitement over Obama’s recent visit pervaded the streets of Cuba… it was the most noticeable change since our visit two years ago. This time returned with our bicycles to ride through the south east section of the country known as ‘The Oriente’; a cyclist’s paradise of rolling hills and empty roads shared mainly with horses, mules and carriages. The 320 mile loop traverses through some of Cuba’s historically significant cities and villages less frequented by tourists.
Once arriving in Santiago de Cuba, we geared up our touring bikes with panniers, spare tires, garmin navigator, tools and gu, in preparation for a long 80 mile first day of riding. My dreams of Santiago de Cuba, being the ‘off the beaten path’ Havana, were crushed as soon as we rolled out the door. Nestled between the Sierra Maestra and the Caribbean Sea, the former Capital of Cuba plays an instrumental part in Cuban literature, music, architecture, politics and ethnology, but essentially its is a frenetic, hustling metropolis with motorcycles swarming up and down the narrow streets to a backdrop of reggaetone and hustlers.
As we pedaled out of Santiago, the polluting traffic gave way to desolation; the long gradual climbs over the Sierra Maestra, coupled with reintroducing my ass to the saddle for the next 10 hours, made for a challenging morning but the views of rugged peaks of the blue mountains and the intoxicating smells of burning trash, tobacco and ripe flowers made the pain a small price to pay.
As we raced down the backside of the mountains, our Garmin GPS fell from the bike and was promptly run over by a large semi truck We stared at our precious navigation tool feeling a little deflated that we had lost our guide so early in the trip. As we sat on the side of the road, figuring out our plan B, an elderly couple came pedaling up to us in flip flops, linens and safari hats. They had no bike gear, no egos, and no apparent biking experience. Their luggage was bungeed to the back of their bicycles and spare tubes dangled around their chests. They too, had climbed over the Sierra Maestra and were heading west, without a planned destination. “We’ll stop when we’re tired”, the jolly man exclaimed with his thick British accent. By that time, they had walked their bikes up some of the more challenging hills, broke and repaired a pedal, fixed a flat tire, and were in high spirits for the journey ahead. Free from expectations, or mileage goals, they were purely absorbing Cuba and all it had to offer. That sort of open mindedness is the key to loving Cuba and their whimsical spirit stayed with me throughout the journey.
Our destination was Bayama, one of the most historically important towns in Cuba- The site of Cuba’s first revolt against Spain. Its impeccably preserved downtown is practically car free; a perfect antidote to the hustled energy of Santiago de Cuba. We cruised into town during the rush hour traffic jam of horse drawn carriages, cowboys on horse back, and bicycles; all vying to get home for a café at sunset.
The first order of business was to find a Casa Particular for the night. Casa Particulars (private homes) are similar to homestays. In 1997, the Cuban government allowed Cubans to register their homes as privately owned businesses to rent out rooms to foreigners. Before 1997, all accommodation in the country was entirely state-owned and operated. Casa Particulars are distinguished by a blue symbol above the door. The cost is between $20-$40 per room per night and usually includes a home cooked dinner and breakfast. The easiest way to find a good one is to simply walk (or in our case, ride) up and down the streets, spot a good-looking house, and knock on the door. “Hola, tiene un habitacion por un noche?” No Expedia or Trip Advisor required.
Our chosen Casa Particular was the simple and gracious home of Oscar and Carmen. Oscar welcomed us with ice-cold beers and water, while sharing his entrepreneurial vision of being the accommodation of choice for all cyclists passing through Bayamo. Dinner was a three-course meal that rivals some of the best restaurants in San Luis Obispo. After a peaceful night’s sleep, we woke to the sounds of roosters, and the smells of our delicious breakfast of eggs, fruit, bread, juice, and coffee.
The next few days of cycling ranged from 40- 50 miles a day, without many hills or obstacles to overcome. Rich cattle country, and sugar cane fields created a welcomed monotony to each day’s ride. The only thing more pervasive then the lush agriculture were the propaganda displays about Fidel & The Revolution.. Apparently, the current administration has a fatal case of the ‘glory day’s. Although most Cubans will tell you they have replaced their mantra of ‘Viva la Revolution’ with ‘What have you done for me lately’.
One of the highlights of cycling 8 hours a day is the heightened pleasure of food and drink. The first sip of an ice cold beer will never taste as good as it does after a long day’s ride. Discovering new restaurants and street food vendors along the route without reading reviews or making reservations was a refreshing treat. We simply viewed and smelled the offerings, then decided what to eat. Roadside ‘pizza’ vendors roasted whole pigs to create a thick dough taco stuffed with pork, cheese and sauce. Other vendors sold fresh fruits, creams and drinks made from sugar cane. Fueling es muy rico.
On the fourth day, the route took us along the coastline, climbing over headlands, then dropping back to sea, along isolated rocky shores and a few short sections of unpaved road. No houses, no street vendors, nothing for miles and miles of coastal riding. The dramatic landscape reminded me of home, only its habitants aren’t people, they’re wild farm animals; packs of goats frolicked on the beach, giant pigs leisurely crossed the roads, horses and cows meandered through the landscape, all without a single fence, barn or human in sight. Its as if Wild Kingdom came to life.
After the challenging day’s ride and 3 nights of Casa Particulars, we splurged on an all-inclusive ocean front resort in Pilon: the only time in my adult life that the idea of all-you-can eat sounded amazing! All-inclusive resorts are scattered through Cuba and owned by Cuban government. They cater to Canadian and European travelers who have been frequenting Cuba for decades. It wasn’t nearly as special as the Casa Particulars but we were able to load up our panniers with snacks for the desolate route ahead.
Our last day of riding was 70 miles along the coast to Santiago de Cuba. Land crabs scuttled throughout the roads; we dodged hundreds of them as they glared at us with pure disgust and raised their little claws to grab hold of our tires. Daydreams of hot showers and a wine fueled celebratory meal made for our fastest day of riding for the final leg of the trip.
We celebrated the end of our tour at a tiny Palador ‘private restaurant’ near the center of town; Paladors are often converted from old colonial homes allowing diners to forgo the uninspiring state-run outfits. The dining room of Palador Mercada was in the chef’s childhood bedroom, with a balcony overlooking the streets below. Upon hearing about our cycling adventure, the chef brought us Cuban cigars and Havana dark rum for us to enjoy while we peppered him with our favorite moments of the trip.
Exploring Cuba may not provide the comforts of a typical vacation destination, instead it offers a unique sense of place, only to be found in a country still living in a time gone by. A place where Spanish colonialism, American expansionism and Cuban national pride, mixed with salsa and cigars have created an intoxicating blend of a simpler life; conversations with strangers on the street, decision making without google or Internet, and satisfaction with needing only what one can carry on a bicycle. Vive Cuba Libre