Vinales - Part 2

I'd not really taken much time to soak in Vinales itself, thanks to my enforced rendezvous with Pina Colada the horse yesterday. It's by no means an undiscovered gem but it is certainly full of charm. A small town of neat, keleidoscopic bunglaows nestled in verdant countryside hills. It had an easy going feel to it that felt like a good antidote to Havana.

There were plenty of tourists and travelers alike but they were much less gruesome than the kind of ilk you find in places like Thailand or Cambodia. Certainly a good spot for a night or two, nothing more.

Breakfast was the usual dazzling array of chopped fruits, a little bread and wake the dead coffee. There was even a fried egg from on the of the many free range chickens that roam around the town with the haughty air of a Hindu cow.

I was eating healthier food in Cuba than I can remember and was shedding pounds like they were going out of fahsion. Although I'm quite sure my car journey yesterday has quite a lot to do with it. That and the fact that I've stopped drinking beer. Apparently people here consider rum a vitamin and an essential ingredient to one's general sense of well being and happiness. Having been here for three days, I could only agree.

Mdme Odalys, in her usual loving but abrasive manner, had decreed that I was to go to the beach today. As soon as my last drops of coffee had been supped, I was being herded into yet another 1950s behemoth of a car. This time is was a Plymouth that had also been gifted a new engine by the good people at Peugeot.

Unfortunately I wasn't in for a private drive today. By the time we'd left Vinales the car had scooped up a total of seven other passengers, meaning there were nine of us packed in like sardines. The suspension was no less forgiving than yesterday's Ford but at least it was a mercifully short drive of one hour. Long enough only to lose another half inch of my spinal column.

The beach was very fine. Generously adorned white sand, plan trees and turquoise waters that one sees in just about every advert for a Caribbean holiday. There were plenty of tourists but it didn't feel particularly congested. It was the first time I had felt a genuine sense of relaxation since arriving in Cuba and I couldn't be happier for it. No cash machines or government sim card shops for miles. Pure bliss.

After a few hours of writing, reading and general basking, I set off for a walk to get the blood going and take some photos. This turned out to be a real treat as there was a neighboring beach that was completely pristine and entirely devoid of tourists. The added bonus was that the fleet of vintage cars ferrying people over had parked there, which was a sight to behold.

I'm very much in two minds about Cuba's future development as a country. As it slowly opens up to the world, I fear it will lose some of the things that make it such a unique place to visit. This is probably the way I can best rationalise and appreciate the various layers of bureaucracy and transportation issues that drive one batty here. If they were to go away then I think that would likely mean the sight of a fleet of 1950s classic cars strewn across a beach may no longer be that commonplace. Which is kind of sad to imagine really.

It's easy to forget that mobile phones and constant access to the internet are luxuries that the human race have only had for a relatively short period of time. Regulating myself to one hour a day of Internet is honestly not as awful as I'd imagined, especially when you're in a place that's as unique as Cuba.

After some merry snapping it was time to head home to Vinales. The countryside was a heart rendering scene of jades, delicately filigreed with purple early evening mists. All I wanted to do was get out and explore, with only myself for company.

Ms Odalys was waiting expectantly and now addressed me as 'Alejandro, mi amour,' which got me all giddy inside. She briefed me on my itinerary for tomorrow. I was to be housed in a Casa Particulares in Cienfuegos, a mid-sized city a few hours east and, perhaps a little generously, described as the 'Paris of Cuba' in my guidebook.

'How far is the casa from the center?' I enquired.
'Cinque minutes. Mi amor.' She forced out something that looked eerily like a smile.

She then wobbled her hand and shook her head in a gesture that led me to believe that it was likely a lot more than that. But it was hard to challenge her judgement. We seemed to have forged something of a bonhomie since the horse riding incident and I didn't dare leave her good graces.

That evening I trundled from the peaceful isolation of the casa to the town square to soak in the Vinales nightlife. There was only one proper night spot next to the town square and it was awash with Cubans and tourists alike.

The younger Cubans were mostly male and tended to loiter on the outer rim of the dance floor. Every once in a while, they would dive in to extract young gringo girls for a salsa session. It put me in mind of the well-honed expertise of a hawk snatching up a field mouse.

I felt a little tap on my shoulder and two French girls I'd talked briefly to at the beach earlier were behind me. They had also, coincidentally, been sitting next to me and Marie in Havana at dinner. Cuba seems to be something of a Meccah for French travelers. I may not be learning much Spanish but my French is probably as good as it's ever been.

After some jolly francophone mojitos together, I was feeling the welcome sensation of fatigue. We said our goodbyes and I made my way to the casa at a leisurely pace, soaking in the cool, hazy nighttime air. We would try and meet in Trinidad in a few days but forward planning here is about as easy as leaving the EU. So I'm not holding my breath.