Trinidad 3

After breakfast, Berta's husband brought around the rented bike. It cost me $3 for the day, cheap even in hard currency. However I made a serious mistake. The saddle was too low and kept tilting back, yet I did not think to get that fixed. I have since understood that a bike not adjusted to suit the rider will waste a lot of leg power.

Playa Ancón is about 12 km out of Trinidad. There are two ways there, the direct route heads south and reaches the coast quickly but then you have to cycle westward along the bay to the base of the peninsula, which dangles like a cashew nut from the mainland. The other way goes west to the coast and hugs the coast all the way. Naturally I intended to use one road going and the other returning, for variety.

The town petered out quickly and soon I was in open country with fields on both sides of the road and a rail line next to it. Presumably this used to be the sugar line. Not much to see. I reached the port of Casilda, but the harbour was not open to visitors so I pressed on. I stopped several times, to catch my breath, or to take a picture. This is a brightly coloured crab I spotted on a patch of sand.

Eventually I reached Hotel Ancón. It had the usual palm frond parasols on the strand. The hotel looked a bit worn, though serviceable. I supposed that richer Cubans or party officials went there. There were also some foreign tourists. The pool was free for visitors to use, so I changed into my cossie and had a welcome cool dip. I ordered a cold beer afterwards to placate the waiter. I rested in a pool chair until my fatigue wore off.

Cycling back was very tiring. There was no shade and the terrain was undulating. I stopped at a dollar restaurant to quaff a can of beer. Towards the end I was walking the bike. Suddenly Trinidad town hove into view and I was relieved. Alas, the guarapo stand wasn't running. With legs of jelly I reached the casa, showered and rested. When I told Berta about my adventures she said why didn't you tell us about the saddle height? We could have got it adjusted for you. Lesson learnt.

In the evening I was served a dinner with lobster, not at my request, but offered by my hosts. Apparently Berta's husband had some fishermen friends. From the way he showed me the frozen crustacean in the fridge I gathered that it was an "under the counter" sale, bypassing the state. He was renovating their home whenever he could get hold of a few bricks one way or another. It seemed that Cubans do quite a few things on the sly. And they seem proud of these little acts of rebellion. Back in Havana, the landlady's son had showed me a satellite TV setup in their bedroom which could receive programs from Florida.

After dinner my hosts took me to the plaza near the church. It was Saturday night and the dance floor was filled with swirling salsa dancers. This was a reason I stayed so many days in Trinidad. The dancers were really very good. It was fabulous to watch the fluid movements. This was the Cuba I came to see. Besides the Cubans, there were a few foreigners, hardcore salsa fanatics no doubt. I had taken some salsa lessons before, and I'm sure Berta would have been pleased to partner me for a number, but I was too intimidated to even contemplate joining the floor.


We chatted while walking back to the casa in the cool night air. I offered to buy them beers but the only place open at that hour sold cans of soft drink, which they accepted. On the way Berta looked at an appliance in a shop window and spoke of her hope to save up enough to buy it. I don't even remember exactly what it was, an iron perhaps, something I would not think twice about buying if needed. And yet I never detected any envy towards richer countries amongst the Cubans. They have only their immediate neighbourhood for comparison. Which was why Miriam thought tourism for rich foreigners could be damaging. You don't know how fortunate you are if you live in a developed country, until you have seen how people in poorer countries make do with so much less. I once read an opinion that made sense. The writer said that the reason Westerners are drawn to Cuba and other Latin American countries is because they present the image of the "happy savage"; people who are vivacious inspite of poverty. We think that perhaps we can learn something from them about happiness and still have our cake to eat. But you know, once you have eaten of the fruit of materialism, you can never go back, you will not be able to stop comparing your life with the advertising fables we are all bombarded with. Unless you change your attitude.