We had an early start to Trinidad with the more expensive collective taxi promising a much shorter 6 hour trip, as opposed to the 10 hour bus ride to Trinidad. The car was already packed with sweaty bodies when we got picked up, and the massive fat slug of a driver insisted we sit up the front. This guy had one of the largest guts I had ever seen and as he pulled out of the driveway he lifted his shirt up over the big bulging stomach to let the steering wheel rest on it. Sam dryreached. We thought we would be the last to be picked up but he soon stopped at another Casa where two Italian girls got in, one of them kissing her Cuban lover goodbye.

Slug was awful, insisting Sam put sunscreen on his arms when she pulled it out to (as non sexually as she could) cover her legs… and then demanding her “agua!” Not knowing what do, she reluctantly handed it over which he guzzled and then tried to give back! Everytime he turned her way his popped belly button almost caressed her knee. I couldn’t help but laugh he was like Jabba the Hut from Star Wars and didn’t smile once.

Two hours into the journey Slug pulled into a roadhouse in the middle of nowhere and demanded we all get out. He threw our packs off the roof and then edged his gut back behind the steering wheel and took off. It seemed our collective taxi and about 10 others crammed with people had been jipped. We now had to pile into two non-air conditioned ex-army buses with hardly any windows and share it with about 40 other people. No one knew what was going on! It seemed the Cuban drivers didn’t discriminate with who they were going to dump and had dropped off families, backpackers, suitcase-tourists and even an elderly couple. Like illegal immigrants we squashed into the people mover and off it went – every two hours stopping at little eateries on the way to capitalise on us spending money. Trouble is, Sam and I had NO money between us, as the transfer was more than we had anticipated. We had bought water and a few snacks to last us thinking we would be in Trinidad by lunchtime. We were now one water bottle down thanks to Slug and our piddly supply of nuts were long gone.

Red faced, dehydrated and sick of smelling the sweat of others, we finally arrived in the main square of Trinidad at about 5pm. Luckily Marcel had recommended a few places to stay here as well, so we picked one off the list and went in search of it. The vibe of the place was very different to both Havana and Vinales. The Spanish architcheture and unspoiled character lined the cobbled stone streets and beautifully groomed parks. A long period of isolation had preserved this beautiful colonial town. The eroding houses were still bright pops of colour but varying degrees of old and new, and decorative cages adorned all the doors.

Our Casa was off an older looking street but once inside opened up into a beautiful terrace garden with a few rooms facing into the central courtyard. The room itself was simple and perfect. The worn tiled floor was covered with an even more worn  rug and two double beds. We had a little bathroom and toilet off the side. The real treat came in the form of our our Casa Mama – a bubbly old woman of about 70 who delightfully greeted us with a hug and a fresh juice. She hummed as she showed us around, happily chirping away in Spanish, with us catching maybe every 10th word.

An Israeli couple were next to us, and as we perched up on the outside table, resting our weary heads, the guy started up a conversation which dragged on and on about where they had been and what season he liked to travel in and because he was born in December he loves the rain. He obviously wasn’t good at picking up body language and so he continued, hardly drawing breath. When he finally upped and left our mama came out and with her hands motioned the “chat chat chat” sign to us. She got it! We laughed back and rolled our eyes saying “ahhh too much too much”. From them on we were tight.

Every morning after our mama served us an omelette and banquet of fresh fruit, we opened our Casa door to the hustle and bustle of Trinidad. Music oozed from every nook and cranny of the place. Streets were strikingly different, some dirt roads with horses parked in driveways, and others beautifully cobbled stoned and manicured. The Escambray mountains framed the crooked windy streets, people buzzed past waving, lace markets decorated dead ends, art galleries were everywhere, saxophones blasted from restaurants, locals sparkled with bright blue eyes. It was all so tantalising!

Every street offered something new to explore and we poured over them; meandering into museums, art galleries, parks, churches, cafes and bookshops, often running into friends from the people-mover experience. It was stiflingly muggy and every afternoon we would look forward to the afternoon rains before gearing up for evenings of live music and attempted salsa dancing! By 6pm bodies old and new were all up standing, shaking their bits with such passion and vigor we were often stunned mullets among the sultry crowd.

H I K I N G  T H E  E S C A M B R A Y  M O U N T A I N S

A massive monster-wheeled truck picked us up and about 12 others and weaved its way high into the landscape of Toppes de Collantes. The drive up was wonderfully slow as the truck gurgled and struggled up and down the gears against the gradient. Having read up on Che Guevera who took to the mountains during the revolution, we approached with a highly romanticed view of the excitement and drama which once unfolded in these parts –  eager to be enveloped in it all!

Having no idea what to expect, we were surprised to see whole functioning towns situated really high up, including an old turborculous hospital which had now been transformed into a grand looking hotel. We continued into the nature reserve and stopped in a really dense part of the jungle to begin our descent down on foot. It took about 2 hours to reach the hidden waterfall we were aiming for. A natural spring in among the tropical shrubbary – it looked like a mirage.

After a glorious swim in the coldest water we had felt in Cuba, we began the tough hike back up, arriving at the top just before the rain hit. Menacing, black clouds had descended low over Trinidad as we drove out of there, making for a sensational view! When we got back to the Casa our mama was running for the clothes line heavy with loads of fresh washing. We ran with her, helping to get it all down just before the torrential downpour hit!

N I G H T  L I F E

One very lucky evening we stumbled upon Alvado – a local-only bar, bursting at the seams with Cubans and music. A 12-piece blues band struck our senses as we snuck into the shadows to freely stare at the show in front of us! There were young mamas with kids hanging off their hips, bending and shaking like I didn’t know possible. Large men were lovingly grabbing their middle-aged wives and grinding up behind them as his lady tweaked and twirled around him. Lovers had each other in a tight grip and were being tossed around and spun on the ground Groups of young guys were swaying in unison, butts shaking as they toe-tapped around the dance floor. Other couples were so entwined their bodies looked like one, as they lustfully circled the crowds. We made sure we were well hidden from view because the last thing we needed was to be made to get up and try wiggle our stiff little bits in amongst such passion!

Our last night was bitter sweet as we had to prepare to leave. To celebrate our magnificent 10 days in Cuba we attempted to smoke our cigars from Vinales and set off in search of a lively bar.

We headed to Casa De la Musica and perched up on the cascading steps of the amphitheater to watch the nightly performance of musicians. Suddenly, Sam had caught eyes with a young Cuban and motioned for him to come over. She whispered something in his ear and suddenly we were both being whisked down the stairs and into the lit bar area where him and his friend started to teach us salsa! We had to look them straight in the eye and follow their lead. Easier said the done as he pulled me in close, bent me backward and whipped me around him but what an experience! We felt like we absolutely nailed it – doubt it looked like that.

Ramming our sweat stained clothes into our packs for the last time, we felt like weeping. There was so much more to uncover in this faraway land, yet already the soul of the place was showing signs of cracking. The Cuba I was luckily enough to meet, served me a shot of joy straight to the heart, and the memories it has gifted me of music and dance will remain with me forever. As I looked out the plane window at the preserved stretch of land, I knew it would be for the last time.