Thursday, 27 October 2022: Another Day in Cuba, another Cuban City

 

I’m up at 6:00 to shower and pack for my next destination, Sancti Spíritus.  It’s almost 100km (60 miles) southeast of here.  With a population of 110,000, Sancti Spíritus is about ½ the size of Santa Clara, the 6^th largest city in Cuba.  Santa Clara doesn’t have the feel of a city of 220,000.  I would have guessed maybe 50,000 until I looked it up.  Maybe it’s because the downtown where I’ve been staying is rather “sleepy”.  There must be considerable urban sprawl that I haven’t seen. 

Who has ever heard of Sancti Spíritus and why would I want to go there?  Well, it’s 18 miles from the Alturas de Banao (Banao Highlands), an ecological reserve with hiking trails in a range of low mountains.  Sancti Spíritus is the closest city to the reserve which has accommodations listed with Airbnb (see my first Cuba blog post to see why I’ve limited myself to Airbnb).  Also, it’s on the way from Santa Clara to Trinidad, a UNESCO World Heritage Site known for its great colonial architecture.  The Lonely Planet Guide says of Sancti Spíritus, “In any other country, this attractive colonial city would be a cultural tour de force.”  The guide goes on to say that it’s overlooked because most tourists flock to Trinidad, another 72 km (45 miles) to the southwest. 

Pedro, my host at the B&B in Santa Clara, tells me where to get taxis and colectivos but warns me that Sancti Sp­íritus is not a regular destination from Santa Clara.  Thus, there may be no other people looking for a ride there this morning and I may have to take a taxi.  

Before I leave, we take photos of Pedro and me and Pedro and his father.  Pedro tells me he wants to join other family members who are living in New Jersey.  I warn him that he won’t like the winters there.  He should know that the USA has lots of problems (especially for immigrants) and is not the “land of milk and honey” that Cubans may think it is.  Actually, Pedro seems well-informed about the USA.  He’s very much up on our politics and is familiar with Rubio, DeSantis, Trump, Obama, Biden, etc.  Pedro is a very nice guy and I wish the best for him and his family.

 

I walk two blocks to the Parque Vidal where I get a moto-taxi for a ride to the central taxi stand.  There are no colectivos going to Sancti Spíritus this morning but there is a driver with an old Russian Lada taxi who will take me there for 5000 pesos ($33).  That feels a bit steep but he’s ready to go so I don’t have to sit around twiddling my thumbs in the hope of a better fare.  He drives south a few miles to the Carretara Central, where he makes a left.  The carretara is only 3 lanes wide here.  Problem – there is no seat belt and he’s doing about 100 kph which feels too fast in this clunker.  Sometimes when there’s no on-coming traffic, he moves into the far left lane to avoid the rough sections.  It’s a bit disquieting when a big truck is heading toward us but he moves right in plenty of time. 

The landscape east of Santa Clara consists of high hills and low mountains; lush forests with scattered farms.  After 65km on the carretara, my driver turns south toward Sancti Spíritus.  I ask him to drop me off at the central plaza, called Parque Serafín Sánchez.  He doesn’t know the city very well but is good about stopping to ask for directions.  It’s taken only taken about 1¼ hours to get here.  From the plaza, it’s less than two blocks to the Hostal Paraiso, my accommodations for the next three nights. 

An older man is sitting in the door.  I tell him I’m early (it’s only 11:10AM).  He calls his wife and she says my room won’t be ready until 2:00.  Fine, I say.  As long as I can sit in one of the chairs in this cool, lovely old living room and rest.  I chomp on a few snacks and get ready to do some writing but after ten minutes, the woman comes back to tell me my room is ready.  Hmmm, why did she initially tell me 2:00 PM?  Guess she didn’t want me to be disappointed if I had to wait a while.  

The older man leads me into a sunny courtyard with tables and chairs, then up an open stairway to a room on the second floor.  It’s small and simple but has its own bath, a comfortable double bed, refrigerator, fan, and air conditioner.  The room has windows on two sides which face the second floor terrace.  And like the other rooms where I’ve stayed so far, it’s spotlessly clean. 

I’m ready to settle into an easy chair in my room to catch up on my writing but a man of about 45 comes by.  He hands me back my passport which the woman (presumably his mother) had taken from me earlier to fill out the lodging form which he has me sign.  His name is Héctor and he asks if I speak Spanish.  I tell him, “Sí” but explain that I have some trouble understanding Cubans when they talk fast.  Héctor picks up on this immediately and makes a point to speak slowly and distinctly.  I understand about 90% of what he says.  I tell Héctor that I want to go to the Alturas to Banao tomorrow.  He tells me where I can get moto-taxis in the main square.  I may be able to find one that will take me to Banao.  I’ll have to go to the bus station about a mile away to find colectivos and regular taxis.  He also tells me where I can find restaurants with vegetarian food close by.  All very helpful information.            

I head out to find some lunch down the street.  The first one only two doors down is closed today for cleaning.  Mesón de la Plaza further down the street has a good pizza and I save a couple pieces for my hike tomorrow.  After lunch I try to do some reading but keep nodding off.  Am I too stuffed with pizza or is it the heat and humidity.  Thankfully, I’m not sick but feel lethargic and unmotivated.  I take a walk a few blocks down to the Río Yayabo to see the 200-year old arched bridge, then around some residential cobblestone streets with classic colonial architecture.  There are no other tourists in sight.  And, like Santa Clara, there are no annoying touts or hustlers on the streets.  I inquire in a restaurant next to the river about dinner - no, they're closed for the day but they let me hang out inside the door for a few minutes while a short rain shower drenches the local area.    

 

Back to the Mesón de la Plaza for spaghetti with veggies and a limonada.  By the time I finish dinner, it’s after dark and the lights are out.  I have no flashlight with me and the old streets are very treacherous.  I shuffle along at a snail’s pace – all I need right now is a damn sprained ankle – but I speed up when a car comes along with its headlights showing me the way. 

When I get back to Hostal Paraiso, the place is dark except for a battery-operated lantern.  Héctor leads me up to my room.  He says they’re having an electricity blackout which will last a few hours.  I feel around in my pack and find a flashlight.  Then too bed at 9:00 so I can get up early for my trip to the alturas.  Suddenly, around 10:30 PM, I am awakened when the lights in my room come on.  I immediately put my camera battery in the charger to get it fully juiced up before another blackout. 

© Will Mahoney 2022

All rights reserved.  No part of this blog post nor any associated photo can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission of the author and photographer.