Bikepacking Cuba: Back to Havana

We woke up in our little 2nd story shit hole in Bahia Onda. (Direct quote from my journal)

Mama Bear and I found our way out to the 2nd story deck we had spent the evening on the night prior. With cold coffee and some snacks, we sat and watched the sunrise over this strange little town. We were part enjoying the morning, part waiting for the Diggers to get up.

One cup went and we went for another. I spent the time journaling and watching the city slowly resurrect from the night. First it was the dogs wandering around. This was the first city where we really saw stray, unkept dogs. They were wandering looking for food. Then the garbage people snuck into the scene looking for food or other things they could use from the refuse of others. There were less of these people than there were the dogs. And then the senoras arose and began cleaning off the porches, calling to each other and doing their things.

The time kept ticking on by. Just as we were like, well, we should probably wake up the Diggers, they pop out of their apartment pretty much ready to go. KB and I sprang into action. Soon the crew was ready for our first obstacle of the day, descending the stairs with our bikes.

This was a 2-2.5 person job. The person at the top would roll the bike to the stairs and then while holding the wheel slowly lower it toward the person at the bottom. Once the rear wheel was on the ground, the bike had to be shapeshifted to fit through the opening in the fence at the bottom of the stairs. This was where the half person came in, usually helping guide the front wheel to just the right spot and angle to weasel the whole damn thing through a hole that was big enough given the right angle, but we weren’t hitting that perfect spot with loaded bikes, at least not easily.

With all four bikes and gear down the stairs, we turned our attention to objective #2, hot coffee. Or at least somewhat warm, sweet Cuban coffee.

If you were to order Cuban coffee in the States, you would get an incredibly strong cup of espresso. Fluffy even has a bit about almost dying from drinking an actual “cup” of this coffee. Our experience on the island was significantly different. First, coffee was actually tough to find. Most people were drinking it, but few had any to share. What they had for sell was a sweet, usually barely warm, weak version of coffee. It was still sold in tiny little cups as if it was espresso, but it certainly didn’t have the same kick as what you would expect. Regardless, we were always in search of coffee and this morning started with that goal.

Our hosts were out on their porch cleaning and doing things, we asked for some beta on good coffee. Yolanda’s man (I didn’t get his name) made some phone calls and told us to head to Cafe Alaska which was several blocks away and probably 3 or 4 too many steps of directions for me to remember. Nonetheless, we thanked him for the beta and headed out.

As we rolled through town, we figured if we saw something, we’d check it out and if we struck out, we would try to find Cafe Alaska.

This had kind of become our routine. We would roll until we noticed a sign or some grouping of people suggesting that there was something to be had. Then we would stop, check it out and typically purchase whatever the hell was available. We rolled through town toward the directions he had given us, stopping and asking about coffee. Every little store was out and eventually we learned that the electricity had been turned off.

Meandering through town, we made it to Cafe Alaska. It was a nice little joint with a few people loitering inside. We walked in and they recognized us as the gringos who had been sent their way. We were seated and then we waited. This was a fairly small place so we knew what everyone was doing and it soon became apparent that we weren’t going to be served. Eventually the awkwardness was too much even for the server and he finally said he was happy to take our order but we had to wait for electricity. A quick discussion and we gathered our bikes and headed out back to search for coffee and some food.

We stopped at a few more places. There were lots of negatives and no affirmatives.

Hanging out in front of a place that we found some fish stick looking thing to eat that I’m pretty sure had ham in it, Mama Bear starts to lose it. This town is wearing on us. Across the street, there is a cute little dog that is barely a bag of bones. It’s too much for her. The uncertainty of our circumstances bleeds into sympathy for a sentient being that has been left for dead. The people walking by don’t even seem to notice.

It has become painfully obvious that we aren’t going to find any breakfast in this place, at least not until the lights come on, meaning breakfast is either being skipped or we’re eating ProBars. As we settle into this reality, Mama Bear can’t take anymore and heads across the street giving the poor puppy her morning rations.

The group comes to the conclusion that our best option is to get the fuck out of this town and just hope that Cuba provides us with a yes long before we haven’t eaten all day. We saddle up and pedal out of town.

It seemed our fortune was turning. A few miles out of town, the industrial feel of the area gave way to the lush farmland we had enjoyed prior to Bahia Onda. There was a small “tienda” on the side of the road. It was really nothing more than a table, a sign and someone who would tend to it, but said sign indicated coffee. Mama Bear was still too disturbed to want anything, but the Diggers jumped in. They reported that it was what we would have expected, sweet, kind of weak and warm, but not hot.

It’s usually accepted amongst cyclists that pedaling is the best medicine for anything. Today was a prime example of said maxim. The raucous chaos of the city melted away as the lush flora surrounded us. There was almost no traffic and we were just cruising on a paved road. Several miles farther out of town and we came upon what my Chilean Spanish would call a finca, a large working ranch. At the entrance to this finca, was a palapa with a sign indicating it was a restaurant. It was only 10:30, so we weren’t sure they would be open.

We rolled up with high hopes, but those hopes were tempered with the last few hours of experience in the area.

There were two young women behind the counter looking at their phones and appearing to be relatively bored. Yes, they were open.

We had stopped more with the idea of just getting something, but after a beer and seeing the menu, we ordered up. The service was anything but quick, but we needed a breather in a calm place. One beer turned to two and a third was in order by the time food had arrived. The service was slow but perfect for what we needed and for turning our mid-morning stop into a lunch spot.

The morning had not been forgotten, but our mood was drastically elevated.

We didn’t have far to go this day and had set our sights on a small town called Mariel. Gaia showed a few Casas Particulares on the map. After the ordeal from the previous night, coupled with our morning, our biggest goal for the day was a place to stay.

We hit Mariel around 2:30. One house only had one room. The next no one was home and there was a slaughter house across the street. As we called to the empty house, we could hear the screams of pigs being murdered. None of us could have dealt with that for the rest of the day.

As it was early, we consulted the map and found that there was another little town farther down the road. Nuevo Mariel showed a road with a bunch of Casas Particulares that was somewhat closer to the beach. We figured this made sense and we pushed on. The road had some large houses on it and we found and talked to several owners. All of them either said they didn’t rent, didn’t ever rent, stopped renting or that someone down the road would. The last guy we talked to was quite pleasant. He said they had stopped renting and didn’t have space that day, but if we continued on for 5 kms, we would come to another small town. Just as we entered on the right was a house he knew rented. If it was unavailable, he showed us on the map a bit past there a road that went down to the beach, Playa Banes. He said he was pretty sure there was a house or two available there.

For once, someone’s directions were spot on. We found the house on the right. It was big. The grass out front was somewhat overgrown, but it was in good shape. Unfortunately, no one was home. Seeing that the other road was close by, we headed toward Playa Banes feeling hopeful.

We turn down the road. It was quiet, even for a Cuban road. There were a couple of ladies painting a gate in front of their house and we stopped to inquire. They said that they thought there was one and gave us directions to look for a blue house on the right and to ask for Juan Pablo. We hit the end of the road. There was one house that could have been considered blue, but it wasn’t BLUE, if you know what I mean. We stopped and figured we would try that house. On our way back, I see another lady hanging clothing to dry in her front yard. I present our query and she seems a little confused until I mention Juan Pablo. She’s like, oh yea, Juan Pablo might rent. Head back, green house going this way on the right.

We find a blue house, but it’s mostly yellow, but we’re also kind of like what the fuck ever. I give an ALO at the gate. Just as waiting seems to be turning into a futile endeavor, a skinny man wearing cut off jean shorts and a sun hat pops out of the bushes from the house next door. He was a bit weary but confirmed that he was in deed the mysterious Juan Pablo. I asked about renting a room. His Spanish was incredibly fast, like he had found some real Cuban coffee and had drank all of it. He said that they sometimes rent rooms, but he would have to consult with the owner. He asks us if we would like to see the house, I’m like sure but if you aren’t sure you can rent it then why, but we check it out.

The house has three bedrooms, a large living room coupled to a big kitchen. There are AC units in every bedroom and the lot is completely fenced. The back porch is spacious and there is a grill. Behind the porch is an orchard and there are ducks and chickens wandering around. It’s a rad space.

I tell him that we will take if if he can rent it.

Juan Pablo lives next door. He says he will be right back and soon we can see him pacing on his roof in a way that made me think he was trying to get service. After several minutes, he wanders back over. He says he can’t get a hold of the owners but for 10,000 pesos he will rent it to us. He says it in a way that makes me feel like he is trying to take advantage of us, so I ask if that is per room, per person. Juan Pablo responds, no, for the whole house. Fuck yea, deal.

We pay him, he gives us the keys and Juan Pablo disappears back into the bushes from whence he first appeared.

With a sweet ass house secured for the evening, our next order of business was a nice shower. Each of the rooms has it’s own bathroom as well. So we disperse and are treated to the king of Cuban showers. Lots of water pressure and it’s hot, not developing country hot, USA level of hot.

After we are refreshed, we need food. We had passed a small restaurant on our way down to the road and we headed back that way to see what they had. What they had was pizza and pasta. Both were consumed along with a few beers. The pasta was so good, I may have ordered two plates. And the beer must have been really good too, cause we bought a case to take back to the house.

We reconvened on top of the house and watched the sun start to set. It was a beautiful setting and the beer was good and cold, but the mosquitoes kept me from enjoying it fully. I soon found myself in bed and fast asleep.

We awoke to a ligh rain sounding off on the roof. After a morning piss, I wandered out to see what we could do about coffee. There was some excitement around the fact that there was a range in the kitchen meaning that we could make our own coffee and sit around and enjoy the morning. John met me in the kitchen and we went about sorting out that end. It only took a few seconds for us to remember that we didn’t have a lighter, but seeing there was a gas range we kind of assumed there would be one in the kitchen. We rummaged through the cupboards and found nothing. This seemed odd until one of us looked over the back of the range and found that there was no gas line attached. Hmmm.

What was attached was a plug and we assumed that the stove was gas. We turned it on to see and yes, we had heat. A couple of pots were filled with water and put in the oven at the highest setting. Then we waited. I would guess that at least one of the elements was not functioning as it took way too long to get the water to start bubbling. Little bubbles were enough and we divided up the water between the four of us and repaired to the back porch to sit and watch the rain and finally enjoy a cup of coffee.

Mama Bear was convinced the water was salty. We all tasted it and were like yea, it’s fine. About half way through the cup of coffee, John stands up and throws the coffee into the backyard in disgust. We all agree and follow suit. The realization that we now don’t have any water for the day starts to set in. It’s a concern but not a huge one. We are only about 25 miles from Havana. It’s cool and currently raining. We eat some cookies we had purchased the night before and readied our bikes to head out.

The rain paused and we were ready. The moment that we stepped out from the protection of the porch, a fierce wind ripped through the yard. The rain hit before we were half way across the lawn. We quickly retreated back to the porch as the rain came down in buckets. It was comical even in the moment and we found ourselves laughing at our fortunes while dawning more apparel as the temperature had taken a dive.

Wearing our rain gear and once the rain let up, we headed back out. As we reached the gate, Juan Pablo appeared out of the bushes. I indicated we had left the keys in the back door. We thanked him for the hospitality and he re-disappeared into the bushes.

We shoved off. The road was wet with big pools to navigate around. We hoped to snag some water but the store that was right around the corner was not yet open. Determined to pedal till we found water, we made our way to the Nacional Highway and headed toward the capital. The rain didn’t hold back for long and soon it was coming down in sheets. In most places, the road was at least half covered in 4-6″ of water meaning that it was flipping up from our wheels and coming down from above. Or at least it would have been coming down if the wind hadn’t been absolutely ripping as well which made it come down in a 45 degree angle.

As the rain was drenching us, there was scant traffic on the highway. However, one big blue government truck came putting by. As was the usual, it had passengers. I wasn’t sure if I felt more sorry for them or us as they were being wisked through the storm without any protection whatsoever.

5ish miles down the road and John pulls over at a bus stop providing us with a little bit of protection to wait out the rain. We really had no reason to rush. The stop had a small overhang attached to a brick building. I could tell that it typically was a small store like so many others we had passed. As we rolled up, there was no indication that it had been opened or would be opened any time soon. We settled in as the only occupants.

As these things go, it felt almost immediate that the rain let up and then stopped the moment we halted. We were rumagging through our things and a thin young lady comes walking up. She is wearing a black parka and black jeans accompanied with cute shoes. She didn’t really interact with us keeping her distance and gaze away. I couldn’t help but notice that the front of her black outfit was quite dark and the back was a lighter color of black. The jeans looked new and then faded. It took me a minute to realize that she was soaking wet on only half her body having walked into the rain to get to the station.

It was about this time that I noticed some rumblings from inside the building right before the metal door pops open and couple of guys step out. Apparently, they had been opened and had closed up due to the rain. We asked for water. They only had a couple of bottles, but did have juice. We bought what they had in addition to some snacks, reorganized our shit and got moving.

Being early in the morning and with only 15ish miles to go to get back to Havana, we just cruised. Playa Baracoa was right around the corner from where we were. This was the 2nd oldest port we were to learn on the island and had some pretty cool buildings and structures as we dropped down to the bay. The ocean was broiling. The wind and the waves rushed and crashed on the old rock walls. It was beautiful and old and run down. There were many restaurants lining the shore, but all of them were either closed or just starting to get ready for the day. We would’ve snagged some breakfast given the chance, but instead headed down the road.

Soon the city’s traffic overcame us and we just kept moving making our way back. Our route brought us into town right down by the beach we had frequented our first day in Cuba. We knew there were restaurants and we headed that way. The wind and waves were still ripping as we parked our bikes out front and found a spot in the open air seating. We were only a few blocks from our Casa Particular and it was barely 10:30. We ordered up coffee (finally hot), food and drinks. Our brunch faded into lunch and we stumbled back out after noon and then cruised the last couple of blocks back to the house.

I was worked, more mentally than physically. As the designated Spanish speaker of the trip, I was the one who had to negotiate all conversations and ordeals. Something I don’t necessarily enjoy doing. My mind was also grappling with what I had just experienced. Bikepacking around a foreign country is always a trip, but this was completely different. It had been over 20 years since I traveled without any plan. We had a route, but there was no guarantee we were going to be able to stay in any specific spot or that we could find food or water. The island always provided, but we were told no on many occassions. In other countries, you can throw money at problems to make them go away. Not so much in Cuba. There was a high level of uncertainty and all we could do was embrace the chaos on hope things turned out.

Luckily, they did.

Embace Chaos. Seek Discomfort.