Collective taxis are a popular way to travel through Cuba, and we opted for this for the two and a half hour journey to Vinales. Without knowing what kind of car and how many people they would pile in, we got picked up in an old beetle, with two angels in the back; in the form of a lovely young Spanish couple. We could pretty much disengage from life as the Spaniards took care of everything, including translating the driver’s cheesy pick up lines. They were very vanilla, were not hungover and were shocked we had no concrete plan once we got to the next destination – and we loved them for that! Happily chatting away, the drive was very pleasant and the view, phenonomal! It didn’t take long to veer out of peeling colonial buildings into the vast open plains of Pinar del Rio. The highway was shared with many a cigar-smoking Cuban driving an oxen and plough, everyone waving at everyone as we zoomed past. I was up front next to the harmless el creepo cabbie who let me know through his translator app Cuban men have up to 4 girlfriends. I told him Aussie girls have a boyfriend of every day of the week because we like free dinner. Sam quietly died in the backseat, her hangover kicking in for the worst as we ventured down bumpy gravel roads and slid around chickens and horses. The landscape we were disappearing into looked prehistoric! Huge green mountain ranges and limestone monoliths drew nearer as we wound higher and deeper into the valley, passing goats, cows, fruit plantations and Cubans, all sharing the land together. My friend Aleks Allison was right – Vinales was a place of dreams.

We finally arrived into the Main Street which was lined with lolly pop coloured rows cascading all the way down the hill like doll houses. These wild colours were fabulously set against a backdrop of tobacco plantations rolling over mountain ranges and brilliantly cut against the bright blue sky. There were more horse riders than there were cars and fruit carts on every corner. Although tourists were also as common as cigars in these parts, the wonderfully relaxed town wasn’t putting on a show.

The Spanish duo were here on a very organised day trip and their first stop was a tobacco farm which they took upon themselves to include us as well. The farmer was the first fat Cuban I had seen, with a sly personality to match. He talked us through the tobacco rolling process, demonstrating and chatting all the while, with a very untrustworthy glint in his eye. When he found out Sam and I hadn’t booked accomodation yet he tried to sell off one of his little “tobacco houses” telling us we would be really “taken care of”. It was a glorious moment because instantaneously Sam, myself and the Spanish girl, all non-verbally communicated our reservations about this guy through a single look at each other other. Strong female intuition was at play! After debriefing about it after, the Spanish guy had no idea the vibe we had picked up on, telling us it was a pretty good price he had offered.

We were thankful to see the sight of our cheesy driver who was waiting loyally under a shady avocado tree. Havana Marcel had given us the names of a few Casa’s he recommended and so our heroic Spaniards asked the driver to call one of them and barter a good price for us, which he lovingly obeyed. Finally, around 3pm we arrived at a picturesque hot pink home at the foot of the stunning de los Organos Mountains. Our bungalow was one of about 4 little rooms, all facing around a central courtyard and the main house. Framed with inner blue walls, a mama who cooked breakfast and dinners, a myriad of lovely faced women running the little operation and pet deer – it was absolutely magical!

We decided to lock in three nights in this glorious settlement and as our heads hit the pillow for a much needed siesta, the daily afternoon performance of an electrical storm began.

N I G H T  L I F E

The nucleas of the town is a lively central square which doubles as an open air music venue at night! At every hour we passed it, locals were congregating around a big speaker box in the middle, swaying their hips to the music. After dinner, tourists started to wander over, joining in on the sultry salsa or plonking down to people-watch. This was a different kind of tourist to Havana’s visitors. Everyone moves slow here. With time on their hands this traveller seemed to be happy to observe and soak in the atmosphere around them, unphased by the roosters in the morning, the choir of dogs barking, or the afternoon rain. By 9pm the square was at peak hour. Hardly anyone was drinking alcohol, instead we were all delirious on the salsa show in front of us – mesmerised by the amazing movement of the locals. Salsa lessons were given out for free in the square if you were game enough to volunteer, or in the studios framing the area for a few CUC and some privacy. There was an art gallery and a club tucked away in one corner, offering entertainment and cheap drinks but the authenticity in front of us was too good to tear away from. It felt good to be among simple living and fresh air.

H I K I N G  T H E  M O U N T A I N  R A N G E

Deliciously full on fresh mango juice and an omelette, our host-mama walked us over to our “tour guide” to take us into the mountains. His english was “poco, poco” and so it was not the history lesson we were hoping for, but it didn’t dampen the experience. This little Cuban led us across fallen tree logs, over bridges made of tractor parts, across tobacco farms, into coffee plantations, under avocado trees, and through thick muddy mud. We could not get enough of the countryside, it was so green and sparkling, home to all sorts of animals living side by side harmoniously. Simple houses dotted the horizons along with tobacco drying houses and the odd donkey ploughing the land.

Many horses carrying travellers down all sorts of muddy paths passed us on the way, some animals looking fit and healthy, others struggling with the load and the heat. Low season meant there was a torrential downpour almost every afternoon making everything lush and abundant around us. Animals were fatter out here then in Havana but tied up to all sorts of shrubs and trees in what appeared to us to be the middle of nowhere. Bulls were on the side of the road next to horses, goats and sheep. The guide was calling us “loco” as we were delighted with everything he was pointing out, like the delicate little plants which recoiled when you touched them, the coffee beans in their green, yellow and red phases or the size of the avocados – equal to that of a rock melon!

About halfway we stopped at a coffee plantation where a lovely green-eyed man took us through the Cuban way of making coffee. Attached to the house was a little shop where they served fresh fruit juices and coconuts!

One of the more challenging routes our man decided we could do, was hold onto a bit of a rope and swing across two terraces thick with mud. I tarzaned over alright but then the pendulum pulled me backward again and I landed knee deep in the crevice I was trying to avoid. Sam called out “oh my hands are covered in shit” only to look back and catch sight of me caked in mud almost losing her balance laughing.

It was definitely shower and tea time when we finally got back, just in time for the afternoon rain show!

G U A C O M O L E

There were many restaurants which lined the main streets here but all of them pretty much offered the same menu (as did Havana) which must be to do with Communist rations. Most of the dishes were made up of rice, beans, bread or pasta but a few days of this heavy eating and we were craving greenery! At breakfast we stockpiled our bread (as the bakery here is for locals only) and stopped at a street vendor to buy heavenly, melon-sized avocados, onions, chilli, lime and tomatoes for about $1.50.

We headed back to the Casa with our treasure and soon caught the attention of the women who worked there, who crowded around to see the two pale-faced tourists smashing up avocado in their kitchen. They had never seen or heard of guacamole! At one point they gently took the knife off us and showed us their way of slicing the avocado, teaching us as they demonstrated.

It was such a special moment, communicating with these curious women through food, all of us taking pride and delight from learning from each other. We chatted away in English and them in Spanish before all sitting down and enjoying our little feast together. They hugged us really tight when we checked-out the next day.

Chances are “Smashed Avo” is now trending through Cuba!