Baracoa 1

There was supposed to be a minibus to Playa Maguana, a beach outside Baracoa. The landlady said the bus left at 1030 so I walked to J's casa after breakfast. She had been told 1000 by her casa so she had called my casa, just after I had left. It was moot because at 1100, the bus driver said that the trip wasn't on because there weren't enough passengers.

So we spent the day walking along the beach to a nearby river mouth called Rio Miel (Honey River). The beaches around Baracoa have black volcanic sand instead of the usual white stuff. On the way we bumped into Bobby, a Cuban hip hop singer J had met the night before. He guided us along the track.

On the way we happened upon this fisherman returning with his catch of crabs and he was gracious enough to let me take a picture of him.

Bobby showed us native plants, and plucked wild fruits for us to taste, such as coconuts, mangoes and wild almonds.

Bobby had a sidekick dog and I think it was the first dog that I have ever seen tuck into coconut with gusto. I suppose you can't be choosy if you are a Cuban dog.

There was a little village at Rio Miel and to cross to the other bank we took a skiff for a few pesos. The skiff was a transportation service for the locals.

There was a swimming beach on the bank of the river. J had a dip in the water, but I didn't.

At the promontory at the end of the walk we met a Dutch couple. It seemed that there was live music in town that night and we agreed to meet at 2100 for that.


Back in town, we stopped for a drink at the Casa de Chocolate. There is some cocoa production in the Baracoa area. Cuban chocolate is rough and the difference was obvious when I brought out the last of my Belgian chocolate to share. This is what chocolate should taste like, said J to Bobby.

This yellow building is the Hotel La Rusa originally called Miramar at construction. It was founded by a Russian émigré called Magdalena Menasses Rovenskaya, or just La Rusa to the Cubans. She had a colourful life as an artiste in Europe after fleeing her homeland in the wake of the Russian revolution because of her aristocratic forebears. In the 1940s she and her husband settled in Baracoa and built the hotel. Many personalities including Fidel and Che have passed through the hotel. From 1953 onwards, sensitive to the suffering of the people, she helped the revolutionaries against Batista, ironically for the same kind of political cause that forced her out of her homeland as a child. (Note from the future: In 2008, Hurricane Ike inflicted devastation on Baracoa. I was saddened to recognise the hotel in a picture of a monster tidal wave hitting land. I believe it is being restored.)


That evening, 6 of us, the Australian girls, the Dutch couple, J and I, showed up at the Casa de la Musica, with Bobby in tow. We had a bottle of rum and some beers. The music included traditional boleros some of which I recognised but it was too loud for conversation. The girls danced a little. At the end of the night I returned to my casa with a heavy head.