Friday, 4 November 2022: An Early Morning Walk on a White Sandy Beach

I leave with Barbara at 7:00 AM having had no breakfast.  It’s too early to have asked the family to fix me one.  She drives me south to Playa Ancón on the Caribbean coast.  It’s only about 12 kilometers but takes almost 30 minutes (20 of which are spent dodging potholes in the road).  When we are almost to the beach, Barbara points out a new, sterile, multi-story hotel under construction.  She is coming back around 10:30 to drop off other tourists so I can get a ride back to Trinidad with her then or take another taxi. 

The area where Barbara drops me off at 7:30 is a laid-back Caribbean beach with thatch umbrellas, wooden deck chairs, and simple open-air bars/restaurants.  It’s a white, sandy beach – deserted except for a few guys sweeping up any garbage from yesterday and getting rid of kelp and other marine detritus.  I can walk in either direction so I choose to do the long leg to the east first.  There is a light breeze, the waves are puny, and the sun is just coming up.  The temperature is around 75°F.  A damn-near perfect morning.  The tourists are probably still in bed sleeping off last night’s party fun.

I walk along the edge of the water dodging the little waves.  After about 500 feet or so, I come upon a six-story resort hotel (Club Amigo Ancón) which despoils the tranquil setting.  So I look out at the sea to ignore the hotel and keep walking.  Soon, the straight beach curves right and I press on toward a point from where I’ll probably be able to see the entire beach which is a couple miles long.  The beach isn’t as nice now because once I leave the area of the hotels and restaurants, there has been no one to clean up the trash and get rid of the voluminous dead kelp.  From the point, the shoreline curves back to the left and I continue on another 500 feet.  Now I can see the tip of the peninsula perhaps another couple miles to the east.  It’s not worth continuing on because this part of the beach isn’t all that scenic. 

Just before I turn around, I stop to eat a snack.  Four middle-aged Cuban men walk past heading east and carrying snorkeling gear.  After we exchange greetings, one of the men points to my pack which I’ve taken off while putting on sun screen.  He warns me to watch my pack because there might be boys hiding in the thick bush next to the beach who could run out and snatch it.  Although I’ve been careful, it’s the first time in Cuba that I’ve been aware of potential thievery except on the streets of Havana.  My Lonely Planet guide also warned of the potential for voracious sand fleas at Playa Ancón in the early morning and late evening.  There have been a few flies and probably sand fleas as well but they’ve not been a problem as long as I keep moving.

I head back west and leave the beach for walk past to the all-inclusive and intrusive Hotel Club Amigo Ancón.  It’s now about 9:30 and there are still no tourists out to enjoy the cool morning air which is quickly warming.  In another hour, I would want to be under one of those thatch umbrellas.  It’s hard for me to understand the appeal of this drab hotel.  For the same price, you can stay in a very nice historic home and eat in authentic restaurants (Lonely Planet gives this hotel’s restaurants bad marks).  Well, there are no historic homes right on the beach, so it’s easier to be a lazy blob at the Club Amigo Ancón and keep the kiddies entertained.  Besides, hotels like this have back-up generators, so guests can avoid the experience of electricity blackouts and other daily inconveniences of Cuban life.  You get whisked here from the local airport in your air-conditioned tour bus and barely feel the potholed road along the way.  And like a cruise ship, I suspect the hotel staff has plenty of shows and group activities to keep you entertained.  I should hasten to add that an American tourist would not be allowed to take advantage of the lush life at Club Amigo Ancón because it is a Cuban government facility.  Should the U.S. Treasury Department find out about such a transgression, an American offender could be in some deep do-do.         

I leave the hotel and continue west along the beach.  The sand turns to coral rock just before the next point.  Beyond here, the shoreline is all mangrove swamp so it’s a good place to turn around.  Barbara had recommended a small beach café which didn’t open until 9:00.  I’m starved after a nearly four mile walk and order a limonada and fried plantains for starters and plan to order more.  They are unable to fix much of anything now because – surprise, the power is out again.  So, I settle for hot tea which they can provide – I guess they have a gas burner.  Here’s another example of how small businesses suffer because of the power situation.      

Around 10:30, I walk out to the parking lot where Barbara will pick me up.  Wow!  There is a beautiful old black Mercury convertible parked there.  I take some photos and the owner walks up to say, “hola”.  “Es un cuarento y ocho [‘48], ¿no?” I ask.  “Sí”, he replies.  He wonders if I need a taxi but I decide to wait for Barbara.  Damn, my Chi hat and cigar are back in my room.  Otherwise, I could ask about getting a photo behind the wheel of this lovely beast.

The ’48 Merc driver takes off and Barbara gets back to the beach a few minutes later.  I tell her about the beautiful old car I wish I could have sat in for some photos.  As she’s driving me back to my casa particular along Calle Antonio Maceo, there it is!  The same ’48 Mercury convertible is parked along the street.  Oh, she knows the owner.  She stops and tells the fellow about my interest in getting a photo of me seated in the car.  He agrees.  So Barbara rushes me back to my room where I grab the cigar and hat.  When we get back to the Mercury, I hand Barbara my camera and climb in.  I’d forgotten how spacious it feels to get behind the wheel of one of these big ol’ girls!  The photos turn out well except I neglect to turn the stogie a bit sideways and it doesn’t show up as well as I would have liked.

 

I have lunch at a restaurant recommended by Lonely Planet but it’s overpriced and my pasta dish is boring.  Afterword, I meet Barbara’s son, Davier, back at my casa particular for an English lesson.  He brings me a gift of a couple cigars, hand rolled by a relative.  I have Davier tell me (in English) about his life, his family, his girlfriend, the sports he likes, etc.  Jesucristo, English is hard!  I don’t know how anyone who is not a native speaker masters it.  Unlike Spanish and French, there is no consistency in rules for grammar and pronunciation.

I find a nice, quiet bar north of the central plaza where I can use that government internet card I bought in Sancti Spíritus.  The place is like a museum with old 78rpm records on the wall and antique furniture.  I sip a limonada while reading at short story in my Pedro Juan Gutiérrez book. 

I wander around the center of old Trinidad shooting a few photos.  On the way back to my room, a pretty young woman stops me to plug her restaurant.  I look at the menu and see a few vegetarian items.  The interior has a homey atmosphere and it’s only a block from my room.  So, I come back at dinner time.  The power is out but they have battery-powered table lamps and can fix just about anything on the menu.  While I’m eating, a four-piece band shows up and plays some traditional Cuban music.  While they are playing, the lights come back on at 8:00 PM.  During a break, one of the band members comes by my table and wonders if I’d like to buy a copy of their CD.  He wants $10 for it, a bit high for Cuba but I like to support live music.  When they finish the next set, the band members come by and autograph the cover for me.  One of the guitarists is blind so one of the other band members guides his hand to a good spot on the cover for his signature. 

After I get back to my room, sorry to be graphic but I’ve got the screaming shits and feel nauseous.  Once I shit out all the bad stuff and chew a couple Pepto-Bismol tablets, I feel better.  I wonder if it’s the ice used in my limonadas.  I’ve assumed they use purified water for the crushed ice – hmmm.    

 

© Will Mahoney 2022

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