We took a (ridiculously) early morning flight from Havana to Baracoa which is in the Guantanamo province which, unfortunately, is famous for something that someone promised to close down in his election campaign. OK, no politics here! If you can visualise Cuba like a horizontal banana, Havana is at the north-west end and Baracoa is at the north-east tip.
From the flight we got our first aerial views of the Cuban countryside - lush-green with lots of lovely beaches (of course, this is the carribean). Because of sanctions, Cuba finds it difficult to maintain and service aircrafts, so safety standards are not exactly confidence-inspiring, but we made it through our flight anyway.
A flash history of Cuba – Columbus landed in Cuba in 1492 and claimed the island for the Spaniards. Cuba remained under Spanish rule for centuries – the first war of independence was fought from 1868-78 and it was only during the second war of independence during the 1890s that Cuba got independence from the Spanish (1898). It then came under the American sphere of influence till 1st of January, 1959 when the revolution (lead by Castro and Guevara) overthrew the pro-America Batista dictatorship.
Baracoa is the where Christopher Columbus first landed in Cuba. Consequently, it is the site of the first Spanish settlement in Cuba - there were seven that were set up by Diego Velazquez. Baracoa also happened to be Cuba’s first capital city. At that time, the area was inhabited by Taino Indians. One of the local heroes (Hatuey) stood upto the Spanish. When he was caught, he was told that if he converted (to Christianity) he would go to heaven. Hatuey responded that he’d rather go to hell if heaven was full of Spaniards! There is a menacing-looking statue of Hatuey facing the Cathedral. Talk about symbolism
This cathedral has a wooden cross which apparently Columbus brought from Europe (there is some dispute about the veracity of this story, though). Since the Cathedral is currently under renovation, this cross is housed in the local parish hall. When we went there, young girls were practicing for a quince party (when a girl turns 15, her family throws a lavish party).
Then we plonked ourselves at the local bar where one toughie with a huge Che Guevara tattoo on his arm tried to have a conversation with me (he speaking in Spanish and me responding in my tutti-footi spanish). Then we were accosted by the local drunk - whom I tried to ward off by saying non hablo Espanol but he kept on saying (someone translated) that if you say 'I don't speak Spanish' in Spanish then obviously you know Spanish. Well, you can’t argue with that! Reminds me of the extract from 'The Little Prince' where he meets the drunkard who tells that he drinks to forget. To forget what? asked The Little Prince. To forget that I'm ashamed. Ashamed of what? Ashamed of drinking. Sometimes drunks can use watertight logic.
Baracoa is a nice little flat town – there are hardly any buildings that have a second storey. Even though it is a really old town, it is planned into grids with perpendicular lanes. So it is easy, and simultaneously not so easy, to get lost in Baracoa. All the houses are painted in the brightest of colours. The city had no road / rail links till the 1960s so effectively it was cut off from the rest of the country but now it is on the itinerary of all tourists visiting Cuba. And not without reason.
It was in Baracoa that I was introduced to the concept of Casa de la Trova. Trova is a branch of Cuban music and is derived from the music of the Trovadores, or itinerant musicians. Almost every city/town in Cuba has a Casa de la Trova where upcoming and established acts play live music every evening. The Casa in Baracoa was literally on the street. Every evening chairs would be laid out on the street and a band would play and whoever felt like it could join the audience or even dance out in the open.
Something about Cubans and dancing. I spent about two and a half weeks in Cuba and the one lesson I took away was that Cubans have dancing in their genes. They’re so good at it and so confident about it that it puts non-Cubans to shame. Young children, of age two or three, are taught the basic Salsa steps and these remain with them for life. Any occasion where they can dance, they dance. It is a bit unfair to the rest of the world how comfortable they are with dancing.
The next day we did a wee excursion in the area near Baracoa. We first went to Playa Manglito (beach) where I did wet my feet (I don't know swimming, remember!) and we had fresh coconut water (straight from the source). Of course, this being Cuba we added rum inside the coconut to make a coco loco (literally: crazy coconut). From there we went up to the mouth of the river Yumuri and took a wee row boat into the interiors where we took a much-needed dip in a swimming hole.
Back at Playa Manglito, a local (called El Americano) had cooked up a meal for us. Apparently years back, when this sixty- or seventy-something man was a young boy, some Americans had come in their ship and when they saw his fair hair and skin they said that the boy looked American - since then he's been called El Americano. Anyways, he'd cooked us a great meal of fish and chicken and we had it by the beach (along with beer and coco loco naturally).
That night it was back to the Casa de la Trova again. After the usual round of beer, music, and dancing, we headed to a hill-top open air disco called El Ranchon. One girl tried her level best to pick me up (she even tried a seductive ‘will you come to my house’). In the end I just bought her a beer and a pack of cigarettes and she was happy.
One of Baracoa’s most famous hotels is the El Castillo - which is atop a hill, and used to be a prison, from where one gets lovely views of the surrounding countryside – including the airport which is right next to the sea. One can also see El Yunque - a table-top mountain, which I, in my laziness relinquished an opportunity of climbing.
The next day, we took a bus to Santiago de Cuba. More on that in the next post.
From the flight we got our first aerial views of the Cuban countryside - lush-green with lots of lovely beaches (of course, this is the carribean). Because of sanctions, Cuba finds it difficult to maintain and service aircrafts, so safety standards are not exactly confidence-inspiring, but we made it through our flight anyway.
A flash history of Cuba – Columbus landed in Cuba in 1492 and claimed the island for the Spaniards. Cuba remained under Spanish rule for centuries – the first war of independence was fought from 1868-78 and it was only during the second war of independence during the 1890s that Cuba got independence from the Spanish (1898). It then came under the American sphere of influence till 1st of January, 1959 when the revolution (lead by Castro and Guevara) overthrew the pro-America Batista dictatorship.
Baracoa is the where Christopher Columbus first landed in Cuba. Consequently, it is the site of the first Spanish settlement in Cuba - there were seven that were set up by Diego Velazquez. Baracoa also happened to be Cuba’s first capital city. At that time, the area was inhabited by Taino Indians. One of the local heroes (Hatuey) stood upto the Spanish. When he was caught, he was told that if he converted (to Christianity) he would go to heaven. Hatuey responded that he’d rather go to hell if heaven was full of Spaniards! There is a menacing-looking statue of Hatuey facing the Cathedral. Talk about symbolism
This cathedral has a wooden cross which apparently Columbus brought from Europe (there is some dispute about the veracity of this story, though). Since the Cathedral is currently under renovation, this cross is housed in the local parish hall. When we went there, young girls were practicing for a quince party (when a girl turns 15, her family throws a lavish party).
Then we plonked ourselves at the local bar where one toughie with a huge Che Guevara tattoo on his arm tried to have a conversation with me (he speaking in Spanish and me responding in my tutti-footi spanish). Then we were accosted by the local drunk - whom I tried to ward off by saying non hablo Espanol but he kept on saying (someone translated) that if you say 'I don't speak Spanish' in Spanish then obviously you know Spanish. Well, you can’t argue with that! Reminds me of the extract from 'The Little Prince' where he meets the drunkard who tells that he drinks to forget. To forget what? asked The Little Prince. To forget that I'm ashamed. Ashamed of what? Ashamed of drinking. Sometimes drunks can use watertight logic.
Baracoa is a nice little flat town – there are hardly any buildings that have a second storey. Even though it is a really old town, it is planned into grids with perpendicular lanes. So it is easy, and simultaneously not so easy, to get lost in Baracoa. All the houses are painted in the brightest of colours. The city had no road / rail links till the 1960s so effectively it was cut off from the rest of the country but now it is on the itinerary of all tourists visiting Cuba. And not without reason.
It was in Baracoa that I was introduced to the concept of Casa de la Trova. Trova is a branch of Cuban music and is derived from the music of the Trovadores, or itinerant musicians. Almost every city/town in Cuba has a Casa de la Trova where upcoming and established acts play live music every evening. The Casa in Baracoa was literally on the street. Every evening chairs would be laid out on the street and a band would play and whoever felt like it could join the audience or even dance out in the open.
Something about Cubans and dancing. I spent about two and a half weeks in Cuba and the one lesson I took away was that Cubans have dancing in their genes. They’re so good at it and so confident about it that it puts non-Cubans to shame. Young children, of age two or three, are taught the basic Salsa steps and these remain with them for life. Any occasion where they can dance, they dance. It is a bit unfair to the rest of the world how comfortable they are with dancing.
The next day we did a wee excursion in the area near Baracoa. We first went to Playa Manglito (beach) where I did wet my feet (I don't know swimming, remember!) and we had fresh coconut water (straight from the source). Of course, this being Cuba we added rum inside the coconut to make a coco loco (literally: crazy coconut). From there we went up to the mouth of the river Yumuri and took a wee row boat into the interiors where we took a much-needed dip in a swimming hole.
Back at Playa Manglito, a local (called El Americano) had cooked up a meal for us. Apparently years back, when this sixty- or seventy-something man was a young boy, some Americans had come in their ship and when they saw his fair hair and skin they said that the boy looked American - since then he's been called El Americano. Anyways, he'd cooked us a great meal of fish and chicken and we had it by the beach (along with beer and coco loco naturally).
That night it was back to the Casa de la Trova again. After the usual round of beer, music, and dancing, we headed to a hill-top open air disco called El Ranchon. One girl tried her level best to pick me up (she even tried a seductive ‘will you come to my house’). In the end I just bought her a beer and a pack of cigarettes and she was happy.
One of Baracoa’s most famous hotels is the El Castillo - which is atop a hill, and used to be a prison, from where one gets lovely views of the surrounding countryside – including the airport which is right next to the sea. One can also see El Yunque - a table-top mountain, which I, in my laziness relinquished an opportunity of climbing.
The next day, we took a bus to Santiago de Cuba. More on that in the next post.
