Sancti Spiritus

I had a half-day to pass before the bus to Sancti Spiritus which departed mid-afternoon. It was only a 70 km journey but the bus schedules did not allow me to proceed further. Anyway the guide book said that Sancti Spiritus was worth a stopover to look at the Yayabo bridge, and was mostly free of hustlers because it's an inland city with no beach front, just some interesting buildings and some history, so tourism there wasn't very developed.

Everybody slept in because it was Sunday. After breakfast I headed for the Plaza Santa Ana again but this time walked up to the Motel Las Cuevas (Caves Motel) on a small rise overlooking the city. This was the other salsa joint that I had not visited. Of course last night's action was all over and it was very quiet in the daytime. I found a shady spot on the stone steps and enjoyed the breeze for a ¾ hour before descending to the heat and humidity of the city below. A little cur trailed me down the steps. I thought he would follow me back to the casa, but he turned off at a side street. Good that he had a mind of his own.

There were some musicians playing at one of cultural centres surrounding the Plaza. I stood outside and listened for a while. I had hoped to find a restaurant lunch but ended up having a street pizza. The guarapero (sugar cane juice seller) was not open again so I ended up finishing all the juice that they gave me at the casa. Berta said that April/May is a slow period for tourism so there are fewer dollars floating around.

Esther, the landlady of the casa that Berta had recommended, was waiting for me at the bus station at Sancti Spiritus. It was just a short walk to the casa. This was fortunate because the bus station was some ways out of the city, and it would be easier to leave the next day. The casa was not as congenial as Berta's but on the other hand the room had air-conditioning. An intriguing feature of the room was the mirror on the ceiling. I guessed that would be for the sex tourists who brought chicas back to the casa.


I chatted to my hosts before and after dinner. Esther and her husband had been mechanical professionals, but had turned to renting rooms because it earned better. They discouraged me from my plan to go to a hotel in Camagüey, my next stop. They recommended that I go to a casa again. Clearly they did not like to see money go to the state but preferred that some of it go to casa owners.

After dinner I took a walk to the city centre. It took me about 20 minutes to get there along poorly lit streets. I wasn't worried. Crime isn't really a problem for tourists in Cuba; the authorities have a lid on pretty much everything. Cuban malefactors prefer to trick rather than steal money from you. There was some kind of modern street theatre going on in the plaza, none of which made any sense to me. I took a blurry shot of another plaza by available light and called it a night.