GUANABO, PLAYA DEL ESTES.

10th - 11th Nov 2017

 Hotel Deluxe El Grande at Guanabo

I read that the Playas del Este, 70 miles west of Varadero, was a 9 mile stretch of attractive palm-fringed beaches, Havana's Riviera. Guanabo at the eastern end was advertised as the 'rustic Cuban end of the strip'. Well, I'm all for a bit of 'rustic'.

First, myself and a German couple had to convince the bus driver at Varadero to stop there. He agreed, eventually, if reluctantly. The bus was full and unfortunately there was a group of about 6  young  Canadians and Americans on board. Nothing wrong with that, per se, but they were very loud and had that irritating way of talking, at great volume, with the word 'like' thrown several times into every sentence. They also talked non-stop with, like, every utterance being greeted with, like, hysterical giggles. What on earth can be so funny for so long? I was seriously tempted to stand up and shout "please shut the f..k up!!". If any of you read my account of the bus trip in Laos from Vientiane to Vang Vieng in January this year you will get the gist. Where do they learn to speak like this,.. like? Maybe I'm just becoming a grumpy old git.

Anyway, the bus did stop, on the main road, and the German couple and I got off and collected our wheely cases. It was drizzling with rain (and there had been heavy rain the previous night). What we soon realised was that we were a good couple of miles from Guanabo town centre. The bus driver must have dropped us there out of spite for some unknown reason. A passing bandido taxi or two tried to tempt us with outrageous prices for a lift. We resisted and walked and got wet. Dodging main road traffic and eventually reaching Guanabo's main Avenue, known optimistically as 5th Avenue, I separated from the Germans and battled my way to the far end of town over broken pavements and around floods. The place had the feel of the Wild West about it. Not an auspicious introduction to, another guide book quote, "Havana's unspoilt Riviera". 'Unkempt' would be more apt

The Casa I had chosen, Elena Morina, was off the main Avenue up some muddy side-streets, some of which were flooded and impassable on foot and involved diversions. I eventually found the place and it had taken well over an hour to get there. It felt longer. But at least the rain had stopped.

The Casa was, however, excellent and I was shown into my own four room apartment by a charming man who told me he was 'minding' the place for the lady owner, Elena, who was away on holiday in Mexico. So, she must be doing OK, and able to leave Cuba. Influential connections perhaps. I was given the keys and told to help myself. An old guy and a couple of fat dogs were on guard at the front gate.

Left: The apartment had a smart bathroom, kitchen, sitting room (with telly) and comfortable bedroom. I show you this photo because, as you will come to realise, there wasn't much else of interest to take photos of.

The main, and really only street of note (right), was lined with uninteresting and dingy bars and cafés. Some of the restaurants looked OK. 

Other than the normal car wrecks and 'pedicabs' most of the traffic consisted of horse-drawn wagons. It sort of reinforced the 'Wild West' feel.

I started by taking a walk along the length of the street. The first thing I noticed was that there seemed to be very few tourists (OK, this is Cuban rustic) and that there was none of the jolly music so prevalent elsewhere. The only music appeared to be recorded electronic and often loud Afro-rock  stuff which, I was told later, was probably 'Reggaetón' and western 'disco'. I suppose it made a change. The only two smartish offices on the street were the Tourist Office and the bank. They were both closed (at 3.00pm each day). In the course of this wander I bumped into the German couple who, like me, had been searching for something of interest to see or do. They had at least been able to find a shop where they had bought a supply of Heineken beer. They had booked into their Casa for four nights! I think this was being a bit optimitic in terms of amusing themselves.

The beach, reached by walking down debris strewn tracks, was not exactly the sublime 'soft white sands and clear aquamarine waters' that I had been expecting. OK, they had received the tail end of hurricane Irma which would explain the filthy debris strewn beach and toppled 'fringe' of palm trees, but not much effort seemd to have been made to clear up. Perhaps because it was not the tourist season. I also noted that the pavements were torn up in places (you had to rock-climb up some) mainly around the palm trees on the streets. Again, hurricane Irma perhaps? No, I was told by a resident Canadian I met later, the hurricane hadn't helped but most of the damage was due to the over-growth of the trees and the expanding roots.

Left: Another view of the palm-fringed beach. Not really a place I would choose for a picnic. In some places there were sharp shards of tree trunk sticking out of sand at the water's edge. Reminded me a bit of the anti-personnel stakes on the Normandy D-Day beaches. Could be a painful landing for any intrepid surfer (not that I saw any). I half expected to stand on a mine.

The derelict abandoned building at the top was at one end of this beach. That isn't hurricane damage. Perhaps it is just undergoing refurbishment.

Right: This, the Hotel Gran Via, was the only hotel I saw. Very tasteful, hmmm, but I suspect my Casa was a better bet.











Left: The Parque Centrale. The only WiFi hotspot in town. I didn't bother.

Consulting my book, I found a recommended restaurant to visit, if only for a beer; El Cubano, the Top Rated restaurant in town. I was the only customer. I think I rather surprised the 'staff' who had been enjoying an undisturbed break and game of cards in the kitchen. It was not an inspiring place. I drank my beer and left.





Right: I passed another restaurant and forgot to note it's name. I expect they are making every effort to gain that Michelin star that has so far eluded them.










Left: Perhaps the most impressive and smartest building in town is the filling station.

Afer dark the place takes on a different atmosphere. The grotty bars along the main street fill up with more customers, but mainly with prostitutes. I called in at one for another beer (no glass provided) and was, within the space of 10 minutes, accosted by two fat and one skinny black tarts. It wasn't even as if they were half-way attractive. And the music; loud and electronic heavy metal with ear-bashing drums.

It was noticeable that by now there was a strong police presence on the street. Not the sign of a safe and welcoming environment. Also, the little streetside booths and shops which sold groceries and beer were all fronted by strong metal grilles. You could only do your business through a small opening in the cage. There was a sort of supermarket which I went into to buy some soda water (for my rum), but they didn't have any, or much of anything else for that matter.

There is one little oasis of excellence; El Piccolo Pizza restaurant. I had read about it. It seemed a long walk out of the eastern part of the town. I set off to find it and had to negotiate some badly or entirely unlit streets. Despite having a map, I had to ask for directions on four occasions (helpful locals) and after 45 minutes eventually found it, hidden away in an otherwise nondescript backstreet. It was a revelation. It is, apparently, owned and run by a real Italian. A smallish, tastefully decorated place it boasts a very friendly and helpful staff and the most delicious, and enormous, pizzas. There is a vast choice and they are cooked in front of you in a proper stone pizza oven. I am not a pizza expert, but these tasted very good to me. I couldn't finish mine (too big), so they wrapped the remainder up and I had it for breakfast the next morning. A notable improvement on most of the food I've experienced to date.Very reasonable price and good wine too. This is where I met the Canadian guy who told me a bit about the place. So, if you ever want a reason to visit Guanabo, this is it!

The next morning (after finishing my delicious re-heated pizza) I visited the Tourist Office. They were not exactly overworked. I was looking for an escape route to Havana (20 miles west). I was told a bus left the end of the street every half hour and ended up in the centre of Havana. It would cost .25 of a CUC (about 20p). This was too good to be true. I went to book out of the Casa....that was another (the other) excellent establishment I found, and dragged my mud encrusted wheely suitcase to the bus stop. Sure enough, within 5 minutes a bus, with plenty of space and empty seats, arrived. I handed over my CUC .25 and off we went. It was a relatively comfortable hour's ride stopping off at lots of places before depositing me outside Sloppy Joe's famous emporium near the Old Town in Havana. Just where I wanted to be.

OK, maybe it is not the hight of the tourist season, and Hurricane Irma didn't help any, but I thought Guanabo was a 'hick town', a dump frankly; a bit of a bomb site. Rustic Cuba, maybe, but apart from  El Piccolo and a pleasant Casa I couldn't find anything to recommend it. Perhaps the other Playa del Estes beaches to the west are more akin to the advertised 'Palm fringed Riviera'. I really couldn't be bothered to find out. I wonder how the German couple got on during their four day stay. By the way, doesn't the name 'Guanabo' suggest 'bird-shit'?

Sorry, another car which took my interest. A polyfilla special with a splendid DPM colour scheme.

 ....and another horse and cart.

Two more days to explore Havana further. There is lots that I want to see.

VARADERO

8th - 10th Nov 2017

An 'all inclusive' hotel at Varadero. Or it might have been a nuclear power station.

On up to the north coast, about 80 miles east of Havana, to the resort town of Varadero. The town itself is at the western end of a 14 mile long narrow peninsular or spit. On this peninsular are in excess of 60 hotels (and increasing) which cater for the 'all-inclusive' holidaymakers who like to swim and sunbathe during the day and eat and get pie-eyed in the evening. Not my sort of holiday and you might as well be on any other sunny beach in the world. Anyway, I was keen to see it.

I sometimes wonder how these all-inclusive joints don't lose money. The simple answer is that most nationalities choose to, or can only, drink in relative moderation. North Americans, I am told, are normally fairly abstemious  and when given unlimited alcoholic access they fall over after only a modest few sherbets. On the other hand, a typical British holidaymaker has considerably more appetite, thirst and endurance (practice?). After a day's ardous basting he/she will happily drink about 25 pints of wallop before supper, get raucously drunk, but still manage to carry on boozing well into the night, or early morning. I suspect it must balance out somehow. You can tell 'all-inclusive' guests because they wear colour-coded wrist bands.

I stayed at another very pleasant Casa in the town. The charming lady owner, Daniella, had another of these omnipresent Dachshund dogs. This one was called Jago and was rather stand-offish which was fine by me.

The town itself is very pleasant, clean and tidy with many relatively decent bars, cafés and restaurants plus a large underground shopping 'mall'. At first I couldn't see the street signs because I was looking upwards. In fact they are set into robust and tasteful little stone pyramids at ground level at the end of every 'calle'. Again, I spent a bit of time buying another ETECSA internet card and then trying to locate the WiFi hotspots. There was one in the shopping mall which conveniently had a few cafés to sit in.

The beach, on the north side, was most attractive with clean white sand and clear turquoise sea. It stretched the whole length of the peninsular.

Kite surfing was popular. There were little groups of these surfing aficionados dotted along the town beach.

After what seemed like a lot of complicated stringing together of their kites and harnesses they leapt off the beach and whizzed away. They made it look remarkably easy.

I did a recce of the local car/bike hire shop to investigate hiring a scooter tomorrow with the aim of travelling around the peninsular. A scooter would cost CUC 60 per day. Rather expensive, so will decide tomorrow.

There were some decent restaurants. This one, Dante's, was in a park at the eastern end of the town and I went there for supper. Quite a picturesque area with lakes and a few other bars. The head waiter was also a 'sommelier', spoke reasonable English and had a good wine cellar (or series of racks). He persuaded me to buy a bottle. He was a good salesman. I ordered, unadventurously, spaghetti bolognese, and it was rather good. A cut above previous Cuban fare. 

All was peace and quiet until a large noisy French family arrived with 3 children and sat at the table opposite. 

....and then, of course, the band arrived having been playing previously at a bar on the other side of the lake. Yes, they were very good. I resisted buying their CD.

The next morning I awoke to pouring rain; the first bit of rain I had so far experienced. At least it was warm rain. I therefore decided against hiring the scooter. Just as well, because Daniella told me there is a hop-on/hop-off 'tour bus' (as in all the other places) which for CUC10 does a round trip of the peninsular. I caught it and off we set on a trip around all the hotels. The sun had come out again by now. There was an extraordinary number and variation of hotels, and much building work on even more going up. Some looked quite tasteful and pleasant, and some, as per the photo at the top, didn't. It took about an hour to reach the easterly point with many stops and detours. At the eastern end is a large marina (right). The strange think about it was that there were almost no boats moored there. We are only about 80 miles from the nearest Florida Keys from here. Could that have something to do with it? To date I'm still not sure what the status of American tourists is. I think they cannot come here direct from USA, but do so via other countries (ie Mexico). I do know that it is very difficult for ordinary Cubans to leave, legally. Plenty of scope for 'people smuggling' but I know nothing about it.

There is a smart 18 hole golf course on the peninsular. At one end of it is this splendid looking Spanish villa (left), called Mansión Xanadú, built by the wealthy American Du Pont family in the 1930s. It is now an expensive restaurant and 8 bedroom hotel. I stopped there for a drink. It has been falling apart on the seaward side and is undergoing renovation.

Right: Looking east up the beach from Mansión Xanadú.
My poor camera does not show adequately the line after line of sun-loungers and occupants burning off the after-effects of unlimited alcohol which, presumably, stretch the full 14 miles to the far end. I expect with an easterly breeze the smell of simmering sun-tan lotion is overpowering.

While fiddling with my PC at another 'hot-spot' in town, a dance club called Casa de la Musica, I met two Swiss ladies 'on tour'. They had been taking Salsa lessons, they told me, and were waiting for the dancing to start so they could practice. "Would I care to join them", they enquired. I was not filled with enthusiasm. I did look in later and nothing much seemed to be going on. The two ladies were sitting alone with no dancing apparent. I decided not to spend the CUC 10 entry charge on that showing.

I must say, the variety of music and dance in this country is extraordinary. A lot with African influence, some from Spanish. I mention only a few. It ranges from Salsa to Rumba, Tumba, Milonga, Bomba, Samba, Bamba, Bamboula, Tambo, Tango, Cumbé, Cumbia, Candiombe, Danzón, something called Regaetón  and, for all I know, the Hokey Kokey and Dashing White Sergeant. With two left feet and little sense of the complex rhythms, I was not inclined to try.

I can't think of anything else of interest to say about Varadero. Nice enough place. Heading west along the coast back towards Havana next. I intend to drop in at the town of Guanabo en-route which, the guide book says, has some nice beaches. We shall see.

SANTA CLARA. VIVA LA REVOLUTIÓN

6th - 8th Nov 2017

Señor Guevara overlooking Santa Clara with steam coming out of his ear.

Santa Clara is situated north of Trinidad, more or less in the centre of Cuba. The town is particularly notable for two things; in December 1958 Che Guevara and his revolting followers 'liberated' the town which marked the end of the Batista regime, and it hosts Cuba's only official drag show. 

I arrived at the bus station which is inconveniently located about 2 miles west of the town centre. I was forced to find a taxi and, by good fortune, found a splendid driver, Alba (left). He was a most amusing and helpful chap who teaches 'surveying' at the local university as his main job and drove a taxi for amusement as well as the extra cash. His car was just my favoured type; a battered black Lada (I think) with a seriously cracked front windscreen and various bits missing. He was cheap and reliable (he arrived at my Casa on time to take me back at the end of my stay). I suspect he operates as an 'unregistered' driver. So, if any of you happen to visit Santa Clara and are looking for a suitable driver who speaks reasonable English, his phone number is: 5.312 4038. 

The main square, Parque Vidal (wasn't he a hairdresser?) was pleasant enough and is the main WiFi 'hotspot' with people sitting on the benches fiddling with their smartphones etc. At dusk the trees filled with thousands of noisy squawking little black birds. Attracted by WiFi signals? By the way, is it written 'WiFi', or 'Wi-Fi', or wifi, or Wifi?

The two statues in the square are those of Marta Abreu, a legendary 19th century philanthropist, whose generous donations largely built the town which, intially, was named after her; Cuidad de Marta.

The other is an 'emblematic' (whatever that means) statue of 'The Boy with a Boot' (left). A fountain with the water pouring out of his held up right welly. I know the feeling.
A quaint little feature.

I found a very pleasant looking roof-top restaurant called La Aldaba. Smart decor, smart staff, smart menu, quite expensive (CUC 15!) and I ordered 'lamb'. The first time I had seen lamb on a menu. As it turned out was just that, a generous plateful of mutton chunks (with rice) which were dry, tough and over-salty. Not nice. I could only eat half. 

There were only two tables occupied when I got there and just as one was getting settled, the inevitable happened; a wandering minstrel appeared and started playing. Straight at me. OK they are good at their music, but there are times when a little bit of peace and quiet is appreciated.

There is a monument, mausoleum and museum complex dedicated to Che Guevara 2kms west of the centre. In fact this monument was erected to mark the 20th anniversary of his, and his followers, deaths in Bolivia in 1967. The statue is on high ground and can be seen from all over the town.

I visited the museum and mausoleum underneath the monument, but had to leave my bag and camera outside. Very strict no photography rule. Actually it wasn't that interesting, and the mausoleum, dimly lit with a waterfall feature at the end, just contained stone-carved niches dedicated to the 38 other guerillas killed in the failed Bolivian revolution. Whether his actual remains, or any remains, are buried here is a matter of some considerable doubt. In 1997 Fidel Castro had insisted that 'his body', was returned in a little cask from Bolivia and placed here to reinforce the  myths surrounding Che and give the Cubans a place of pilgrimage. Its probably all a load of baloney, but thats politics.

Right: There is an 'eternal flame' outside, lit in the ceremony in 1997 by Fidel, surrounded by many stone plaques to commemorate other fallen 'revolutionaty heroes'. A rather disinterested and scruffy soldier was lolling about pretending to be on guard.









I had happily walked here and was on my way back to town when I was approached from behind by one of the many horse and cart taxis. What the hell, I jumped in and took a ride for once. It only cost a CUC. The horse was called Pancho.

That evening I decided to visit the Club Mejunje, almost opposite my Casa on Calle Marta Abreu. This is the club that boasts Cuba's only official drag show. I was told by some amusing and trendy black guys at the door that the place hosts all sorts of acts and types of music but the drag show was only on Saturdays. Tonight there was to be a 'band', starting at 10.30pm. The place is basically a large ruin of a building with four rudimentary brick walls, no roof, a couple of trees inside, a bar area, a stage loosely surrounded by uncomfortable and wobbly looking scaffold tiered seating and a few picnic tables and chairs. I duly arrived at 10.30pm, bought a rum and soda and sat down at a table opposite the stage. There were only about a dozen people in. And I waited. Eventually a rather portly 65 yr old bloke ambled in with an electric guitar and tuned it. He was followed by two others of similar age and build. One sat down at a set of drums and the other began tuning his bass guitar. There was a keyboard but no player for that. A youngish woman and a young poncey-looking youth with a flowery shirt and bow-tie also faffed around testing microphones. Then they all stood up, got drinks and went to the back for a fag, and a chat. I waited more, but nothing seemed to be about to happen. I was on my 3rd rum and soda by now, looking at my watch and deciding whether to call it a day. Then, at midnight, an old lady shuffled in. She looked to be about 80 yrs old, wearing a shapeless skirt with crumpled 'Nora Batty' style surgical stockings and a terrible curly ginger wig. She also looked very grumpy. Anyway she hobbled over to the keyboard and sat down at it, took ages adjusting her chair, and glowered at the keys. What an unimpressive looking line-up. And then she started started playing. Wow!! The others had been waiting for her! They all joined in. It was amazing! I nearly spilt my drink. They played and sang a wide range of songs drifting seamlessly from classical to modern; Verdi and Bizet, through Gershwin, Rogers and Hammerstein Broadway stuff, Frank Sinatra to The Rolling Stones with enormous enthusiasm and great skill. The young lad singing was simply fantastic; he could have been from Covent Garden, La Scala or The West End in London and performed some immaculate duets with the girl. At various points members of the audience, now numbering about 50, came up and sang with them. They knew what they were doing. As for the old girl on the keyboard, she was obviously controlling the whole thing and was thumpingly impressive! It was a magnificent 2 hour eye-watering and magical performance. It was made to look almost improvised, but was obviously not.

My little wanderings are, for the most part, fairly mundane but there are rare flashes of extreme exhilaration. This performance was one of them.

I wish I had taken some photos. Typically, as always when a camera is most needed, I had left mine in my room thinking it would be too dark and/or not a great spectacle. How wrong I so often am!
I managed to speak to the young singers and the old bird at the piano afterwards. They deserve a special mention; the deceivingly 'geriatric' pianist was called Freyda Anido, the young lady singer was her daughter, Marlen, and the young lad singing was called Samuel David Rodriguez Menejías. Give them a big hand!!!

There were images of the saintly (mass murderer) Che everywhere; even on the terrace wall at my Casa (right).










As already mentioned, the Cuban people are mostly quite poor, but they are looked after by the state and issued ration cards with which they obtain food. The food is also very basic; I never saw any stores or mini-supermarkets with shelves of the stuff, let alone luxury goods, as we are accustomed to. However, a high proportion of the locals, both black and white, seemed to be remarkably 'well upholstered'. I rarely saw a skinny one.


They are certainly not starving! Despite a refreshing lack of MacDonalds or any other 'fast food' outlets the standard figure can be somewhat on the 'generous' side. I met these two trendy young things in a queue at the bank (they are Cuban). Was it P G Wodehouse who unkindly remarked about some comfortably build lady; "She looked as if she had been poured into her clothes and had forgotten to say 'when'." ?





By chance I found another watering-hole called Restaurant Florida Center (right). This was another agreeable looking place but where the food could best be described as 'average'. I had fish. It was never made clear what kind of fish; just fish (and rice). However, it had a major selling point. It was run by a very charming young man who told me that they had 'in house WiFi' for which I needed my ETECSA card, but it worked! I could come in and use it anytime. Magic.


Of course there was in house musical entertainment. This duo were, despite appearances, extremely good with their sing songs. The guitarist was especially good (the best in town, I was told, obviously). I was feeling generous and bought, for CUC 10, one of his CDs. I kook forward to listening to it when I get home.

I bumped into a couple of Austrian ladies at my Casa and helped them load their bags onto a jeep. They had been driving around Cuba for a month and had covered just about the whole country. They told me they had driven over 3000 kms so far and were heading back towards Havana. It put my minor roamings into perspective.

My mate Alba, the taxi driver, was waiting to collect me early the next morning and off we rattled back to the bus station. Next stop Varadero, the well known 'all inclusive' haven for well heeled sun-worshipping tourists on the north coast. I feel I have to see the place.

YE OLDE TOWN OF TRINIDAD

3rd - 6th Nov 2017

Plaza Mayor. Trinidad

After a relatively comfortable two hour bus journey we arrived in the town of Trinidad, on the coast east of Cienfuegos. The bus parked by a square on Avenue José Martí...his name appears everywhere and, frankly, before I came to Cuba, I had never heard of him. I had a slight problem getting orientated as the streets all seemed to have two names which didn't always tally with my tourist map. There is a smart Iberostar Hotel on this square which proved an invaluable (if expensive) watering hole. It offered public WiFi connection (a hot spot greatly sought after) and good prawns on toast.

Eventually found my Casa (not far away) called Las Mercedes. Again, similar clean and decent accommodation, helpful proprietoress and given keys for a free run of the place. Actually the shower was a bit of a challenge as the water went from cold to molten lava hot with only a brief intermediate period of 'warm'. It added to the excitement. One common factor about these establishments is that most have an incumbent dog. For some reason most of these dogs are of the Dachshund variety. Las Mercedes was home to one such, a fat creature called Anna which hovered around me, expectant but disappointed, at breakfast. There are a lot of Dachshund 'types' on the streets also. I never found out why. 

I won't bother to mention Casas again unless I hit on one which is exceptional, good or bad. It is so easy to find accommodation without needing to book in advance, unless you want to on some advice or other (but not from a 'Jinero') and gives you the freedom to move on when you feel like it. I can never understand why tourists want to spend the earth on a pre-booked 'luxury' hotel. Heavens, you're only in the place to wash and sleep, and perhaps for breakfast, and to recharge your various 'devices'.

Trinidad is a living museum. One could have stepped back 100 years in terms of its rustic charm. As such it is a very popular tourist destination and also as such has some comparatively smart bars and restaurants serving, by Cuban standards, good and varied menus. 

The main colonial style square, Plaza Mayor (at top), is a pleasant enough space with standard church at one end. To the right of the church is a series of steps and terraces (right) leading up past a stage and on to various bars at the top. 

This is a popular venue for drinking, dancing and listening to bands. As I passed a band was performing. It was one of the louder ones with trumpets and saxophones etc. plus a most enthusiastic vocalist. A bit too noisy for my taste.

I was told later of a more raucous venue, Disco Ayala, which takes place in a cave further up the hill. It is advertised as 'frenetic' and thick with 'Jineteras' (euphemism for prostitutes). Costs CUC 10 entry which includes as many Mojitos as you can sink. It was the Mojitos which put me off going.

Right: Cars again. This one is a 1950 Saab. The owner was very proud of it.

Three old cars. One is a 1958 Austin, one a 1950s Hillman and the other I forgot to note. Perhaps some car expert reading this can sort them out. As someone pointed out; note the bonnet mounted air intake and rear spoiler on the Hillman for greater traction when operating at high speed over the cobbles!

I presume these were British made? It made a change from the usual Chevrolets, Buiks, Cadillacs, Fords etc.

All the streets in this place, if not dirt tracks, are cobbled; some in good repair, some with what might be described as 'challenging' surfaces. It can't have done these old bangers' suspensions much good, but understandably the Cubans have become experts in DIY auto-maintenance.

The rest of the transport was something resembling the Wild West. Horses tethered loosely all over the place. How do they train them just to stand in one place when the owner dismounts?

Not so many horses and carts here, probably because the cobbly road surfaces would shake them to pieces.

Right: Bands played impromptu in most available spaces. Some, as always, very good to listen to. They all have a habit of trying to sell you their 'CD', often at an outrageous price (negotiable). I have so far resisted. This lot here got me to join in playing the 'hollow stick you beat with another stick' instrument, whatever its called. Lots of 'Guantanamara' (girl from Guantánamo)'. They know its a crowd pleaser.

I went to visit a nearby museum, the 'Museo Nacional de La Lucha Contra Bandidos' (the National Museum of the Fight Against Anyone Who Opposed the Revolution). I thought it sounded interesting but unfortunately it was not; just a lot of faded photos and dull mementos of loyal revolutionaries who bravely resisted  counter-revolutionaries. I think they had a small boat as an outside exhibit. Anyway I didn't bother to take any photos. But, there was a tall bell tower in the building which I climbed. I can't resist climbing up inside towers/steeples etc.

It gave some good views of the surrounding countryside. This one (left) is of the mountains to the north. Very attractive scenery.

I took a wander around the 'back streets' which contained some simple and very poor looking houses, but they were mostly painted pretty pastel colours and much effort was ongoing by the ladies of the houses in sweeping, washing and keeping their outside areas clean and tidy. Many horses were lurking under shady trees.

The menfolk were busy occupied in important work such as playing dominoes. This game (left) I stayed to watch. Dominoes is commonly played and with much gusto; lots of rapid noisy banging down of tiles and not a little shouting is involved. 

As mentioned earlier, there are many attractive bars and restaurants about the place, such as this one (right).

.....and one I particularly enjoyed was La Canchanchara, just off the northern backstreets. It had a great band featuring another brilliant girl flautist. When they finished I had a word with her (she spoke a little English). A charming lady, her name is Irbana, aged about 25 and she has played the flute for about 12 years. Her standard of playing is extraordinarily high. Trouble is, she can't 'export' her talent abroad as it is difficult, if not impossible, for 'normal' Cubans to leave the country.

I don't know what Canchanchara means, but they have named a rum-based cocktail after it. I tried one. As with all these 'cocktails' (ie mojitos), they tend to be rather sweet and sickly and don't appeal to me. I have been sticking to local beer (Cristal), wine and the odd rum and soda water.

Right: The Canchanchara bar.

Another café/restaurant I found, called the Adita Café, was notable for producing a great breakfast of good coffee, eggs, bacon and toast. A rarity so far. I got speaking to a barman there. He was called Carlos and told me a bit about Cuban life. His mother is a gynaecologist at the local hospital and his father a truck driver. Carlos' main interest in life is cars and he wants to be a truck driver. However, he explained what he called the 'upside-down pyramid' of earnings in the country. His father earns CUC 20 per month, his mother, a fully qualified doctor, earns CUC 40 per month and he, a barman in a rare part-foreign owned restaurant, together with tips, earns CUC 200 pm! A no brainer. He stays as a barman. Of course because his mother is a doctor, and father a state employed driver, they get subsidised housing, rations, utilities, free health care and education and other state provided benefits. As such 7 of them, Carlos, his wife and daughter, mother and father and grandparents all live together in a two bedroom apartment with one bathroom between them. The beneficent State looks after them....after a fashion. I think Mr Corbyn and his fellow revolutionaries would appreciate this truly 'socialist' way of life.

In all these towns there have been excellent tourist information centres. Tourism being one of Cuba's significant forms of income, tourists do get well looked after. I visited the 'Cubatour' office to find out about the CUC 5 'hop on-hop off' open top bus. I believe these operate in all touristy towns. Same as the one in Viñales. Incidently all the buses are made in China.  As part of its route it takes you to the beach area of Playa Ancón, about 18kms to the  south. I decided to spend a day there.

Left: The beach at Playa Ancón. White sandy beach, beautiful clear turquoise sea and it was broiling hot.

There were a couple of large concrete hotels of the grim Soviet architectural style, but there did not, however, at first sight, appear to be a lot to do if you weren't keen on swimming, snorkelling or roasting yourself in the sun........






.....but that seemed to appeal to the many skin cancer afficionados I saw frazzling themselves from medium cooked to well done.













I suspect some of them, like this rather pallid example, would spend a most uncomfortable night suffering the painful symptoms of 3rd degree sunburn.

I remember the effects from a bad experience I had many years ago, unclimatised in hot sun; the large blisters, the pain, the illness and ultimately the liberal shedding of skin all over the place. Hey Ho! Whatever turns you on.

Of course I now always wear long trousers, a shady hat and only rarely take my tie off. One has to maintain standards, and a pale skin.







Right: Another 'bathing belle' hoping to refloat herself on the next tide. I'm not sure if the Cubans have a whaling fleet but I hope she keeps an ear open for cries of "thar she blows!"
(actually this is not the photo I was originally intending to show. The one I have, but will not download for some reason, is of a much much larger specimen. Perhaps it is too large, or self-censoring.)








On wandering up the beach I spied a more luxurious and inviting sort of hotel complex. On approach from the beach I was challenged by a powerful and threatening looking black 'security guard'. She told me this was a restricted area for 'guests only' and I was not wearing the requisite wrist-band. "Go away!" I was rudely told. So I attacked it from another angle. Sure enough, on entering the front of the establishment, it is called Trinidad del Mar, I was confronted by a very plush complex of chalets, swimming pools and bars/restaurants (left). I asked at the front desk what the form was. Told that it was an 'all inclusive' resort, I asked politely if I could go in. "Yes", I was told, "for a day membership of CUC 25 and this will give you as much as you can eat and drink and the restaurant opens in half an hour for lunch". I considered briefly. I forked out CUC 25 and decided to make the most of it. I had a pre-lunch drink or two plus a game of pool with a local (he won) and then made my way to the restaurant which had a very good, by any standards, buffet lunch on display to which I helped myself plus copious quantities of wine. I made damned sure I got my money's worth. Not very healthy but enjoyable. Hic!

There was a sort of rickety viewing tower above the restaurant which, after at least 8 glasses of wine, I managed to stagger up via wobbly ladders (or maybe it was I that was wobbly) and took this pic.
Right: Looking north to the town of Trinidad and the hills beyond.

After that, back to the 'flop-on' bus and back to town. A bit pissed I suspect.




Left: Sorry, another car. A typical Trinidad taxi. At every street corner you were loudly greeted with the salutation "Tacsee, señor!". I took this to mean "Good-day sir", to which I assumed the correct and polite response was, "No tacsee gracias" (and a good day to you too).

Right: The interior decor and trim of this magnificent machine were in keeping with the general style. Quite impressive. I note that the driver has removed his radio/GPS for safe keeping.

Left: There was some renovation work going on. Note; no arsing about with helmets and other elf 'n safety paraphernalia. Just get the job done.

An interesting point about the houses and shops in these towns and cities, so far, is that they all have prominently displayed street numbers on them. As indeed they do in many other 3rd world towns. Despite the confusing double old/new street names it makes places easy to find. I often wonder why we don't insist on this simple navigational asset in British towns (esp. London!).

A pleasant and interesting 3 days in Trinidad. Next off up north to Santa Clara, smack bang in the centre of Cuba, and the place where Señor Ernesto 'Che' Guevara kick-started La Revolution.