Honduras with Hat – out to Trujillo on the ‘Garifuna Coast’
December 27, 2010
Here’s the third and final instalment of Hat’s Guatemalan & Honduran adventures.
After a few days duelling 18 wheelers on the coastal highway (which, somewhat optimistically, I call ‘contextual riding’ or ‘underbelly touring’), we were keen to swap the frenetic Honduran pavement for more tranquil dirt roads once more. We devised a loop for the last part of our ride, after pouring over our (somewhat inaccurate) IMTB Honduras map and digging through various guidebooks (the excellent Cycling Central America and the standard issue Lonely Planet – though I should add that Moon’s guide looks considerably better).
Our plan? To head out towards sleepy Trujillo, the oldest settlement in Honduras, via the Garifuna villages beyond Balfate. And then return to La Ceiba via Tocoa, Olanchito and a dirt track that flanks the beautiful Pico Bonito National Park – home to its namesake, a craggy 2435m peak.
Our original plan had been to ride south on a dirt road through La Union and Limones, in an effort to reach the capital, Tugulcicalpa, for Hat’s flight home. This coastal loop sounded more appealing though. Not only did it avoid an insalubrious stretch of road, known locally as ‘El Camino de la Muerte’ – the Highway of Death – for the frequent holdups between La Union and Salama, but it also left me a little closer to the Mosquito Coast, my next destination.
Dirt roads good. Dusty roads bad. Luckily traffic was light past the seaside hamlet of Balfate. Then it was just beach beach beach.
Idyllic surroundings: a fisherman, his homemade sail fashioned from plastic sheeting, glides his way upstream from the sea, waving enthusiastically as he passed under the bridge.
Hat pauses to sketch. Sadly, I've been banned from showing any on the blog...
There were numerable, clear water stream to cross...
... en route to the Garifuna fishing settlements of Rio Esteban and Rio Coco. Originally hailing from the island of San Vicente (before being forcibly deported to Roatan by the invading British), Garifunas now populate the coast from Belize to La Moskitia. Descendants of shipwrecked slaves and Black Carib Indians, their culture is a unique blend of South American and West African influences.
It was a quiet scene.
Sunset, and fishing boats were pulled up on the beach...
...as the day's catch was being prepared for the evening.
Tasty fresh fish.
Naturally cleansed with citrus fruit.
It didn't take long before we had a meal lined up at one of the houses that lined the deserted beach. Paula cooked us up a delicious plate of red snapper and fried plantanes, then her son, Marvin, lopped down a couple of coconuts for desert. We ended up camping in their yard, as the beach (which seemed peaceful enough) was deemed unsafe.
The following morning, we cycled on to Rio Coco, the last settlement along the coast. From there, we waited for a ride in a fishing boat to Betulia, the first point where the dirt track continued once more. Here's Hat loading up the bikes, while the fisherman chats on his cell phone. Apparently, reception is a little patchy round here...
After an hour's journey along a remote and rugged stretch of coastline, the boat turend down a shallow inlet just off Punta Betulia, gently grazing the sandy river bed.
From here, our the dirt road to Trujillo resumed once more, passing through the Garifuna villages of San Antonio and Santa Fe. Despite the guidebook warnings of robberies in the area, everyone seemed particularly welcoming and kind.
More fun crossing streams... (that double up nicely for washing buses)
And more wild, unkept beaches between Garifuna settlements, where boys played footaball and children paddled in the waters.
Trujillo is the country's oldest settlement, and was close to the site of Colombus's first landing in 1502. It's a veritable backwater compared to the likes of San Pedro Sula and La Ceiba, with a real frontier feel. Should you continue east past nearby Limon, the road soon peters out into beach and waterways, from where dugout canoes link remote dirt tracks into La Moskititia - the fabled Mosquito Coast.
La Bahia de Trujillo, where the kind folks at Casa Kiwi - a hostel closed for the season - offered us a plot of land to camp, cold beer and a hot shower.
The Pelican Patrol.
From Trujillo, we looped back towards La Ceiba. This is the road to Tocoa, normally frequented by overloaded trucks transporting palm oil.
A young palm plantation - African palm oil is an important Honduran export, and palm plantations occupy over 90 000 hectares in the area of Colon. There are currently several ongoing, often violent disputes between campesinos and the government over land rights. Anti-military graffiti had been sprayed across a couple of road signs.
Luckily for us, the bridge across one of the rivers had been washed out, funnelling truck traffic onto a dusty dirt secondary road. As ever, enterprising locals had set up a ferry service across the river for half a dollar a ride. Bikes were 25c. Bargain!
As we closed in on Sava, the road became busier and faster once more, plied by Dole fruit trucks headed for the deepwater port of Puerto Castilla. We'd have preferred more traffic like this - a bicycle pulling a trailer loaded high with plastic bottles for recycling.
It wasn't long before we turned off the highway. According to our insightful cycling guidebook, the ride from Olonchito back to La Ceiba passed through one of the most beautiful valleys in Central America. It certainly didn't disappoint, climbing ever upwards on a grassy dirt track, before finally whittling right down to a footpath and plummeting towards Yaruca on the other side.
It felt like we had the place to ourselves. Bliss. The track was too narrow for even the most insistent of jeeps - which is saying something, in this part of the world.
Elaborately woven, hammock-style birds nests hanging high in the treetops.
Sublime views from the descent to Yuruca, where we were put up by Americans setting up an orphanage. In the morning, we tucked into oranges plucked off the trees.
Quiet dirt roads... yay!
The jungle is rich in textures...
... and intricate shapes.
Plenty of enticingly clear pools at which to stop and swim.
Not only was this Hat's last day riding, but it was her birthday too. There seemed no better way to round off her journey then riding along the Rio Cangrejal. This beautiful river lead us right back into La Ceiba for her bus to Tegucigalpa, and her flight home to snowy Blighty...
Happy Christmas from Honduras!
December 24, 2010
Thanks for dropping by this site over the last year. And a special thanks to anyone who’s left comments. They’re always very much appreciated.
All the best for 2011 (-:
Christmas celebrations (beer and juice cans) on a tropical plant.
Honduras with Hat – Running the gauntlet to La Ceiba
December 24, 2010
Hat and I have been journeying along the Central American Caribbean coast in the runup to Christmas. Now though, her trip has come to an end and she’s winging her way back to the UK to spend a wintry Yule with her folks. With the UK under a blanket of snow, her next ride certainly won’t have any pineapple and coconut stops…
It’s been mini-adventure packed times: running the gauntlet with goliath, hand-me-down American trucks on the road into San Pedro Sula – the second largest city in Honduras. Loading our bikes into a skinny, precariously bobbing fishing boat to connect a remote stretch of Garifuna-infused coastline. And sampling some sweet singletrack across the Sierra Nombre de Dios into La Ceiba.
As ever, it’s been great to have company. As I sit here chomping on my tuna/tomato/avocado/salsa sandwich (our staple lunch these last couple of weeks), I know riding alone again will take some getting used to. But I also know that the accompanying sense of independence (and vulnerability) is bound to lead to rich, interesting encounters, keeping me motivated for the road ahead in 2011.
In the meantime, there’s Christmas and New Year to look forward to, before heading on towards the remote dirt tracks and waterways of the Mosquito Coast…
Hat and a surprisingly smooth ribbon of Honduran road.
Ex-US school buses barrel along the highways, minus the lavish decorations synonimous with Guatemala. Same breakneck speed, daredevil driving techniques, and ear bleeding horns though.
Hat, preparing for (colour co-ordinated) battle with these goliaths of the road.
A sign I like to see... Cold coconuts for sale. Delicious.
Two in one. A drink...
... and a wholesome meal, rich in protein and good for destroying intestinal parasites, so they say. All for 50c.
Way better than Coca Cola, who, seemingly unsatisfied with having whole shops painted in their telltale insignia, have endorsed entire towns. Their presence is felt throughout Central America, though Honduras' Coca Cola consumption actually pales in comparison to Mexico, the largest consumer per head in the world.
Street graffiti in Tela. Water privatisation is big business in Central America - apparently it takes four litres of water to produce one of Coca Cola. Interestingly, ex Mexican President Vicente Fox was also president of Coca Cola in Mexico and Latin America prior to his election...
More roadside snacks. Chargrilled corn on the cob, with a squeeze of lime.
In fact, Honduras scores well on cycling snacks chart. No shortage of fruit: bananas, oranges, pineapples galore.
Pick a pineapple. Any pineapple.
More tempting options: an agua de jamaica (hibiscus) refresco.
Long stretches of road, buffeted by trucks loaded with palm oil, weren't so enticing. We stopped for a break along one. As Hat disappeared into the undergrowth to go to the loo, a trucker slowed right down, pointing into the palm plantation before making a rather melodramatic finger-across-throat gesture. I took it to suggest we shouldn't hang around there too long...
The sign on this bus reads: My God is an Awesome God. Exhaust fumes and all.
In Tela, just as we were enquiring about cheap digs, we were invited into Alba's house for the night.
Up the rickety staircase...
... into her simple home, where we kipped on the floor. There was barely any water dripping out of the tap, the corrugated roof was speckled with holes and shafts of dusty light patterned the walls. Six months ago, she'd been robbed of her TV. Yet all this didn't stop Alba inviting two complete strangers into her home.
We also stopped in to visit her friend. Clarissabel had worked as a cleaner in New York for over thirty years, and in her broken english, subjected us to a blow by blow account of the complete contents of her thick tome of family photos.
In fact, Clarissabel’s children are still in the US, and send her back cash remittances so she can complete her half-built concrete home, a relative mansion in comparison to the wooden shacks on either side. She lamented the state of drug-rife Honduras, and offered an explanation with a religious slant typical to this part of the world. “Dios se enojo.” God has become angry because of people’s greed.
By way of example, she told us how a year and a half ago two women were gunned down almost outside her house. In fact, gun culture here seems even more prevalent than in Guatemala – it’s not uncommon to see a handgun nonchalantly tucked into a belt down at the juice bar.
The beach at Tela. Nice to look at but not a spot for moonlit walks, according to the locals, who keep to themselves when night has fallen.
A vast Dole (formerly known as Standard Fruit Company) pineapple plantation - in such stark contrast to the smallholdings seen during my recent travels in Cuba. Placards warned us to steer clear of the area when pesticides are being sprayed. Apparently Numegon (a soil fumegant) has been banned in the US since the '70s, cited as a cause for infertility, cancer and birth defects, amongst others.
The outskirts of La Ceiba, flanked by the impressive Sierra Nombre de Dios. The city was developed largely to serve the interests of Standard Fruit in 1924 - its owners, the Vaccaro brothers, dealt primarily in tropical fruit and steamships. Their banana export business, along with that of United Fruit (now Chiquita), remapped the social landscape of Honduras, thanks to their acquisition of vast tracts of land - much of which they didn't actually need. This land wasn't returned to Honduran farmers until agrarian reforms in the '60s - and even then, it was done with the interests of the banana businesses in mind.
It always takes a little time to find your feet in a new country. With national politics in turmoil after last year’s coup, and increased street gang activity, it sounds like safety in Honduras could be a little dicey at the moment. We’ve certainly been warned enough to take care by those we’ve met, though it’s hard to know just yet whether or not its really justified. So far, Hondurans seem quick to smile (or, in Hat’s case, whistle and catcall), and as welcoming as anywhere else I’ve experienced in Central America.
Jardin Botanico de Lancetilla, Honduras
December 18, 2010
I’m jumping ahead of myself a little, but here’s a quick post on the arboretum at Tela, across the border in Honduras. The botanical gardens were originally set up as an experimental station, back in 1926, by the evil United Fruit Company (arch manipulators of regional politics and economics). Now they’re government run – and apparently amongst the largest of their kind in the world.
The main section to see if easily covered in an hour or two – rewarded with a dip in a beautiful plungepool, set at the end of a dark, fantasy-like tunnel of giant bamboo…
The gardens boast a remarkable stage and semi circle of benches, set amongst the bamboo forest towards the entrance: a natural, swaying amphitheatre.
The raised platform set in the middle of the bamboos. What an incredible, atmospheric place for a play or concert.
Giant bamboo, from Asia, is as thick as your arm. I love bamboo's texture...
…and mottled colours.
Soaring high...
Shielding the world below from sunlight...
Creaking gently in the wind.
The signposted trail takes you on a leisurely stroll through the arboretum. Locals are paranoid about security, so an elderly guard was assigned to our personal safety, materialising here and there out of the foliage to point us in the right direction.
A peaceful place. Trees reached out their ancient arms over the stone pathway.
Home to various forms of nesting plantlife. This epiphyte is a bromelia.
... or creatures that dangled off their branches. This epiphyte is from the cactus family.
Then it was back into bamboo forest once more.
For a final, refreshing dip in the plunge pool.
Goodbye Guatemala… Finally!
December 15, 2010
The rainy season is over. At last!
After a detour to the US (to air out my bronchial lungs, ride the Arizona Trail and, yes, work), followed by a trip to wonderful Cuba (for a brotherly tour), I’m on the road once more. It’s certainly been a long time coming, what with falling ill, my time volunteering at Mayapedal, and a dirt road loop back into Mexico’s Chiapas distracting me from my southerly journey.
And I have new company for the next few weeks, in the shape of Hat (or Sombrero, as she might be called over here), a friend from Bristol. Conveniently, Hat’s inherited Cara’s $100 Mongoose I put aside when volunteering at MayaPedal, giving this old steel hardtail yet another lease of unexpected life.
Hat has just under three weeks to ride. Our plan is to travel the infamously rollercoaster-like dirt backroads from Lanquin to Rio Dulce, crossing the border into Honduras near Puerto Barrios, before following the Caribbean coast to La Ceiba and Trujillo, to connect with Hat’s flight home for the Yuletide festivities. As for me, I’ll be stopping over Christmas to meet up with friends and knuckle down to some more writing work. Then, in the New Year, I’m hoping to catch a cargo boat to Puerto Lempira, in order to ride the dirt roads that weave their way south through La Mosquitia, the remote and apparently wild backdoor into Nicaragua.
Here’s a few pictures from our last few days in Guatemala, following the particularly stunning section from Lanquin to Puerto Barrios, via the small settlements of rambunctious Senahu and dusty Panzos.
Hat and I met up in the picture perfect but heavily touristed, colonial town of Antigua, up in the Central Highlands. This is one of the three volcanos that dominate the views from the rooftop of the bohemian Umma Gumma hotel - set to crisp skies I'd been lucky to have seen a few months ago.
And here's Hat, with our loaded up bikes in Lanquin: the trusty 100 dollar mongoose and the swanky Rohloff (and soon to be disk braked) Thorn.
We stayed in El Retiro, one of the massive hostels that cater to the daily influx of backpackers shuttling through this sleepy town, en route to the incredible limestone waterfalls of Semuc Champey. Although the atmosphere was a bit 'backpacker resort' for me, the fast flowing Cahabon river (overlooked by the bar) was beautiful, and I must admit to loving the bathrooms!
A cool tap and sink indeed.
Pictures never do a gradient justice... The 10km stretch to Semuc Champey was a tough introduction to touring in the Guatemalan Highlands. The average dirt road around here is ridiculously steep - and you know things are really cranking up when you hit concrete pavement. Pickup trucks overheat and skid, and I later found out Hat - a very strong rider - 'vomited into her mouth', as she so eloquently put it.
Vomit aside, it was beautiful riding, following quiet dirt roads through the Sierra de Santa Cruz.
With panoramas like these... As we climbed in elevation, we passed through cardoman and coffee plantations, camping in on a ledge in one for the night.
Soaking up those views. Before one of the rainy season's final deluges soaked us to the bone the next day...
Evidence of deforestation, one of the reasons for the severity of the landslides this year.
Chopping and collecting wood is part of the backbreaking routine of life in the Guatemalan highlands.
More gorgeous views...
Though a close up look reveals that typical Guatemalan calling card: a rubbish dump on the edge of town.
Religious graffiti: Me, You and Jesus. The Christian message is omnipresent in Guatemala.
Stopping for a minor mechanical. Inevitably, the ageing Mongoose needs a little TLC. Luckily, the beauty of these old quill-stemmed and cantilever-braked hardtails is everything can be dealt with in the local hole-in-the-wall bike shop. Like this one, where the kids who ran it lent us an adjustable spanner to tighten the headset.
Leaving Senahu...
... and the mountains behind.
Just in time... The roads round here are all being 'upgraded' to pavement. Workmen waved us on enthusiastically.
It was a massive descent. For no sooner had we toiled our way up to 1000m, than we were headed straight back down again.
Here's Hat, a civil engineer, winding through trucks and diggers on the work site along the stretch to El Estor. Apparently, this isn't quite how things are done in the UK...
The view from El Estor, on the banks of Lago de Izabal, the largest lake in Guatemala.
... where kids gathered to fish the afternoon away.
Our digs $3 digs in Panzos. Not too bad from the outside.
Though not quite as inviting on the inside. Luckily, Hat's snuffly cold meant she was spared the purvasive smell of urine that greeted us in the hallway.
This poor lynx had it even worse, and looked decidedly unhappy cooped up in its tiny cage, with barely enough room to pace a few steps up and down. Next to him were were two brightly coloured toucans hopping forlornly from one perch to another. As Hat said, our night camping in the coffee plantations was a whole lot more pleasant...
Still, it wasn't all bad. We took a lunch break at the surreal, hot waterfall of Finca Paraiso. Piping hot water plummets into a clear, refreshingly cool pool below.
A lovely spot, where tentacles of vines clung to the rockface.
From Rio Dulce, we took a boat journey through the mangrove waterways that seep out towards Guatemala's short coastline with the Caribbean Sea. There, the Garifuna village of Livingstone was in the midst of its 48 hour meddle of Gouadeloupe festivities.
Then it was time for another watery ride, as we hoped on the slow boat back across the river to Puerto Barrios.
Early morning fishermen.
After clearing customs, only a ride through the Chiquita and Del Monte-owned banana plantations, strung across no man's land, remained before the Honduran frontier. Here, an overloaded truck had jettisoned underipe bananas (destined for export) at every bump in the road - which we fed to the cows. I can vividly remember making this same journey over fifteen years ago, when the road was dirt and my mode of transport was the rooftop of a dilapidated chicken bus.
Luckily, we escaped the the ominous crop-spraying runs... Makes you think about buying organic...
Farewell Guatemala, hello Honduras. Our final meal, costing just over a dollar, was one of the best I've had. A delicious array of fried plantanes, eggs, peppers, tomatoes, onion, cheese, beans and tortillas, washed down with refreshing homemade linomada. Perfect cycling fuel for the day ahead.
For more info on this route, check out Ian Benford’s Cycle Central America, page 88, or download the pdf here.
The Cuba Lowdown: an intro to bike touring
December 15, 2010
Cuba makes an ideal introduction to bike touring: it’s easy to get refreshingly off-the-beaten-track, places to stay are well within two-wheeled striking distance, the terrain is flat(ish) and it’s very safe. Turn on the salsa soundtrack, throw in a string of beautiful beaches and sprinkle with stunning colonial towns, and you have all the ingredients for a great ride.
With this in mind, I’ve written an overview of our route, a little about the casa particular system, some insights into negotiating Cuba’s crazing dual currency system and a brief rundown of the kit I took with me.
Lightweight touring in timewarped Cuba.
Route and Distances
We bused out to Cienfuegos (5 hours, 20 CUC, no problems with the bike) then began the ride. First we looped around Central Cuba, stopping off in Santa Clara, Remedios (highly recommended), Santi Spiritus, Trinidad (with a detour to La Boca and Playa Ancon), Playa Giron, Australia, Matanzas (with a detour to Playa Coral) and back to Havana. Given the flat to rolling terrain, this made for a very enjoyable, easy going tour.
We gave ourselves a couple of days in Havana (an incredible place, and easily seen on foot) and cycled all but one day. Covering 60-95kms a day allowed us time to stop for swims/food forrages and to explore each town when we arrived. We probably cycled around 800kms in total, over two weeks.
Although there's plenty of mountains in Cuba, the terrain on our route was never worse than rolling.
Traffic free riding in Cuba's beautiful colonial towns.
Money Matters
There are two currencies systems in Cuba, the Peso Convertible (CUC) and the Peso National. CUCs are used for the likes of accommodation, internet and more expensive food, while Pesos are better for street snacks, fruit and local drinks. At the time of writing, the exchange rate was around 0.9 CUC to the US dollar, and 1.4 to the GBP. However, it’s best not to bring any greenbacks, as these incur a hefty 20% penalty when you change them. All other currencies are commission free, and you can change money at either one of the banks or the cadecas (exchanges). Cadecas will also change your CUCs (tourist cash) into Pesos Nationales (local cash), at a rate of 24 to 1. Once you get your head round it, it’s all very easy and above board.
Travelling with Pesos Nationales
If you really want to do Cuba on the cheap and hang with the locals, this is the way to go. Just a few dollars worth of pesos will last you days – most back-of-beyond sandwiches won’t cost more than a few pesos, and even a pizza with all the trimmings won’t set you back more than 10. You can sometimes pay with CUCs and get change in pesos. Look out for the three peso coin, which has a picture of Che on it.
Peso National and CUCs. Never the two shall meet...
Budget
Overall, we spent around $24 dollars a day, excluding a dollar or two for the odd beer (neither of us are big drinkers). This included massive dinners and breakfasts in our casas, and cheap lunches in backwater towns. It excludes very occasional internet use and our bus ride to Cienfuegos.
Hidden Costs
You’ll need a $15-20 Tourist Card, depending on where you’re flying from. From Central America, you can get this on the plane, and in the UK, my brother went to the Cuban embassy in London. We’d heard about a daily insurance exclusive to Cuba, to be paid upon arrival. However, we passed through immigration without being asked, so it looks like there’s not the infrastructure to support this quite yet. When it comes to leaving the country, you’ll also need to keep 25CUC handy to pay the exit tax.
Casas Particulares
My usual style of touring involves mixing camping with cheap guesthouses, both to save money and because I love pitching my tent in the wilds. Cuba proved a little different. Although camping is perfectly possible, from what I understand it’s officially illegal unless in one of the recognised sites, thus requiring more of a stealth approach. Since our trip was relatively short, we traveled extra light and treated ourselves tocasa particularesevery night.
Casas Particulares are the Cuban equivalent of a B&B. Although their 20 CUC price came as something of a shock (to me, at least), they’re actually really good value when split between two, considering what you get. The en suite rooms were invariably pristine (many had a fridge too), full of character and run by ultra friendly hosts. Towels are included, just don’t expect a brand new bar of soap (something of a luxury item it would seem, judging by the amount of random people who asked us for soap in the street).
We generally shopped around when we arrived in each town, allowing us some scope to negotiate. Jineteros (touts) often tried to coax us over with promises of 15 CUC deals, but we steered clear of them and stuck to the 20 CUC options. You’ll know the official ones as they have a little T-shaped blue emblem on the door. Casa owners can ring ahead and book you in with one of their friends if you want. Bear in mind that we were travelling on the cusp of the high season, and that casa owners are due for a hefty increase in the taxes they pay to the government, so this will probably be reflected in some price rises. I haven’t listed all the places we stayed in, but see addresses below for the places I’d really recommend.
Vicenta, the maternal owner of our casa particular in Playa Giron, called us 'mi amores', plied us with food, delighted in sharing Nick's family photos and treated us to her homemade mango jam. Retired after 38 years as a pharmacist, she used money from running a casa paricular to supplement her 8 CUC a month government pension.
Food
We invariably ate breakfast and dinner in our casa, simply because the food was so good. Dinner typically cost 8 CUC, and for this we could expect a veritable feast of fish/chicken/pork, or even lobster. This would be supplemented with a hetfy serving of rice, perhaps a bean soup, a mound of salad, some form of potato side dish, and sometimes even a fruit salad. Breakfast set us back 3 CUC, and was plentiful too: a tankard of fresh juice, a platter of fruit, bread, butter, honey, omelets and coffee. Each casa invariably had its own little twist on this formula, giving us plenty to discuss as we ate.
A lobster feast like this set us back 8 CUCs. About 9 dollars.
To balance out our CUC accommodation, we only spent peso nationales during the day at local eateries. Hygene can sometimes look a touch iffy, but neither of us were ever ill. A dollar or two will cover pizzas, sandwiches, snacks and fruit for the day. It’s that cheap. The food is pretty basic, though if you nose down some side alleys, you’ll often come across various Cuban culinary oddities that are always worth a whirl. A loaf of bread is a few pesos, so bring some peanut butter from home, or buy some honey in Cuba.
Most towns should have a basic selection of cheap street food, though Sundays can be a little sketchy.
More good news: Cubans love their ice cream. If you can't track any down, ask the kids.
These creme caramels were made using recycled aluminium drinks cans.
Water and liquids
Except where locals advised otherwise, I drank the local water. We generally guzzled plenty of liquids in the morning, in the form of fresh guava juice in our casa. A few casas provided filtered or boiled water, while others charged for bottled water. You’ll often see signs for refrescos, in hole-in-the-wall eateries or simply tacked to someones door, which are one peso a glass. Some use fruit (natural), most are straight from a packet. Batidos, at two pesos or so, were the business: a fresh fruit milkshake with enough ice to give you an ice cream headache. The fruita bomba seems to be a national favourite. A can of soda will set you back 10 pesos or half a CUC, while a1.5l of bottled water is 70c, and found in any of the dollar stores. Nick rated the Cuban coffee, served at breakfast and dinner in your casa, or from a grubby hole-in-the-wall eatery for one peso a pop.
Taking a bath, Cuban style.
Internet
I managed to poach a free signal at Havana’s National Hotel, but what was the extent of wifi for the trip. For internet access, you can buy scratch cards from Etecsa, the telecoms company, allowing you to log on and off at different locations, until your credit is used up. The charge is 6 CUCs an hour, and speeds tended to be a little on the slow side. Best to do all your research and make your printouts before arriving. There are no website restrictions, though it seems Cubans can only access a more limited selection of websites at internet cafes closed to foreigners.
Bikes
We both rode mountain bikes, my Thorn Sterling and Nick’s Specialized Rockhopper. I went ultralight on this trip, as we weren’t carrying any camping kit. I didn’t even need a rear rack or panniers, as my framebag, seat bag and bar bag combo provided ample space. Nick had a small bar bag and two rear panniers, with loads of room to spare. We never had any security concerns, but we were often told to keep an eye on our steeds, as opportunist bike theft is apparently common in Cuba.
I went light, and used my Porcelain Rocket framebag and accompanying kit. No need for panniers on this trip as we weren't camping.
Bicitaxis: with so few cars about, Cuba's bike culture is thriving.
Tyres
Nick ran Specialized Armadillo 1.5s, which are probably your best bet for the predominantly paved roads of Cuba. I bought a couple of fat, 2.2in slick tyres in Guatemala for just $5 dollars a piece. Normally I’d carry a spare folding tyre, but as I was carrying so little, I figured I was unlikely to have any problems. If you’re running 700c tyres, bring a spare and stick with 32c or above, as some of the backroads are a little bumpy. We did see a pack of seventy (yes, seventy!) riders from Austria, Germany and Switzerland on sleek roadbikes, though they were vehicle supported and keeping to highways. Cubans will hanker after your tyres, as only cheap Chinese ones are available.
Most Cuban roads are pretty good quality, though backroads can be a little bumpy, as can the cobbly colonial towns.
Traffic
On the whole, Cuban roads are eerily quiet, and what traffic there is tends to be sympathetic to bicycles. On our loop, the stretches between Cienfuegos and Santa Clara, and from Australia to Matanzas, were a little busy. With Cuba’s fleet of ancient vehicles, prepare to be occasionally engulfed by a cloud of noxious fumes, often just as you’re cresting a hill.
Most cars give you plenty of space. Beware the old Plymouths and their noxious fumes.
Flying with your bike
I flew from Guatemala with Copa and Nick from London with Iberia, and neither of us had to pay for our bikes, which was a bonus. When we arrived at the airport at 10pm, the taxi we took into the centre (25 CUCs). Then we left our box and bike bag at the casa particular. On the way back, I rode the 25kms out to the airport with my Ground Effect Bodybag and a load of cardboard (I’d heard it was hard to find at the airport), then packed up my bike there, to save the taxi fare. Easy to find, and takes an hour to an hour and a half.
Kitlist
1 pair of baggy riding shorts (for both on and off the saddle)
1 riding jersey (to be washed daily, in theory)
1 pair of short fingered cycling gloves
1 pair sunglasses
1 pair of riding shoes (SPD riding sandals would be best though)
2 T shirts for mooching
2 pairs of quick drying boxer shorts
2 pairs of socks
1 waterproof
1 pair of Crocs for off the bike
Wash kit stored in a zip lock bag
Headsweats sun cap (I didn’t bother with a helmet)
Some high factor suncream
Reading book
Small notebook
Lonely Planet general guidebook
Wally and Barbara Smith’s Bicycling Cuba guidebook (dated info but nicely written)
1 road map (purchased in Cuba)
Small Spanish dictionary and verb book
Family photos (Cubans are real family people, and love to check out siblings/kids)
Some ziplock bags for storing snacks
1 Original Mountain Marathon rucksack for around town rambles (packs down ultra small)
A handful of health bars and isotonic drink mixes from the UK
Rear LED and head torch
Multi tool
Bike pump
Spares (chain links, cleat, bolts, cables)
Lock (carried between us)
Inner tube and puncture repair kit
Note that anything you have left over will be gladly received by Cuban cyclists, who hunger for quality parts – particularly tyres, as there are only low grade Chinese ones available in Cuba.
Central Cuba Loop
December 11, 2010
In Cuba, colour combos abound.
Cuba.
What an incredible country. What an amazing cycling destination. It’s hard to know even where to begin.
There’s much to report from just two weeks of travel. 21st century communist Cuba is a complex place, and a large part of independent travelling here has been simply experiencing and contemplating its socialist system: both the inspiring policies introduced with the Castro-led revolution of 1959 (like nationwide education and universal healthcare), as well as some of its obvious downfalls (lack of money/freedom of speech/travel). It’s not all clear cut though. For instance, Cubans contend with massive billboards evangelising the benefits of socialism, quoting nuggets of wisdom from past leaders and revolutionaries. But in return, they live in an almost advertisement-free world, far removed from Western-style consumerism and its own form of control. Away, as Che once said, from the ‘invisible cage of capitalism’.
Politics aside, its capital city, La Havana, is like nowhere else I have seen: both supremely elegant and decidedly run down. The people we’ve met on our travels have invariably been warm and hospitable. At night, when the air is filled with music, when bars flow with rum and young men loiter in doorways, its streets still feel noticeably safe. There are casas particulares (Cuban B&Bs) everywhere, serving up platters of lobster, fish, chicken and fresh fruit to fuel you on your way. Except for a couple of challenging mountain belts for those in search of Alp-like climbs, the terrain is relatively flat. Ok, so there can be brutal headwinds to contend with, but if you pick your route carefully, you should get through pretty much unscathed. And did I mention those crystal clear Caribbean and Atlantic waters? They’re the perfect way to wash away sweat and temper the midday heat.
For the cyclist, it helps that its roads are all but empty of cars. Money-tight Cubans are masters of reinvention and for the most part, people travel in old Russian trucks, or by horse and makeshift cart, or homemade bicycle taxis, recycled from old bike and motorbike parts. Pre-embargo classic are crammed with passengers, and even the tiny, boxy Ladas have been stretched into surreal limousines. I’m convinced that this lack of traffic empowers communities, reclaiming the roads as a place where people can gather in the evenings and kids can play freely. Certainly, Cuba really comes to life in its streets.
All in all, the more we travelled in Cuba and the more people we talked to (which isn’t always the easiest thing to do), the more we realised what a complex country this is. And the more we wondered about how it possibly gets by. Modern Cuba is undoubtedly founded on noble ideals. Under the strain of a trade embargo and without the Soviet block to bolster its economy, its ongoing resistance to being shaped by the business-lead interests of the US is noble too. Of course, it’s hard to get beneath the veneer of tourism and know what people really think. Yet to those unconvinced by the real-world benefits of capitalism, it’s also hard not to be impressed by at least a part of what socialist Cuba has achieved, and continues to struggle for.
Ultimately though, whether or not you buy into Castro’s firm handed government and its results, Cuba is a country that will doubtlessly challenge the way you think. Each and every day, Nick and I spent hours contemplating Cuban socialism, and trying to decipher what we thought of it. Which, in my mind, is good a reason as any to visit this incredible place.
We caught a bus from Havana to Cienfuegos, then spent a week touring Central Cuba before riding back to the capital again. This took advantage of the island's westerly winds. Most days we ended up in fantastic accommodation overlooking colonial squares, like this one in Remedios.
My brother Nick in the small village of Limonar. This is our fifth bike tour together over the last decade, joining Syria, Northern India, Kyrgyzstan and Tunisia.
Away from the Carretera Central, the roads are invariably very quiet. Cyclists rub shoulders with locals riding old Chinese single speeds, or steering horse and carts...
... or driving classic American cars imported before the revolution of '59.
These old gas guzzlers are everywhere, preserved thanks to the longstanding US trade embargo. To keep the country going, thousands of single speed bicycles were imported from China.
Refreshingly, there's no insidious advertising from multinational-owned businesses. But what you will see are massive placards by the roadside quoting Che, Fidel, his brother Raul and other key figures in the Revolution.
As well as more subtle messages on many a street corner. Educate your child, reads this one. Cuba has one of the best literacy rates in the world, at 97%.
The fall of the Soviet Union in the early 90s and the ongoing trade embargo and has placed enormous strain on the country's socialist system. But the message is always the same. Hasta la Victoria Siempre: to victory, always.
We couldn't quite figure out what people thought of Fidel. But Che seems to be universal adored. Memories of the Argentine revolutionary Ernesto 'Che' Guevara are everywhere. In Santa Clara, we visited his memorial. Killed in Bolivia in 1967, his ashes weren't returned to Cuba until thirty years later. I listened to a young mother telling her daughter Che's story as they walked around the adjoining museum.
The famous Che cigar, from a life size statue outside the Communist Party headquarters in Santa Clara.
Fed up with Tescos? In Cuba there are no supermarkets to speak of, even in and around the larger cities. Small markets, or hole-in-the-walls like this one in Trinidad, are where you buy your fruit and vegetables.
Which in turn come from places like these. There are hundreds of Organoponico farms scattered across the country, providing locally grown food for each municipality.
I stopped to take a photo of one and was invited in to have a look around. Run by four workers, the place was filled with carrots, sweet potatoes, herbs and all kinds of green goodness, flourishing in the November sun.
These little succulent little lettuces will soon be moved to a bigger field.
A classic Cuban scene: groups of men huddled round a game of dominos. It's a surprisingly rambunctious game, with each piece slapped down noisily to encouraging shouts and whistles.
In a country where people somehow get by on so little, the tourist dollar is ever more important. Cuba spends a portion of the money earned to restore its buildings. Walking around immaculate central plazas like this one in Cienfuegos feels like stepping into a 50's film set.
Some cars, like this Buick Eight, have been beautifully renovated...
... but the majority, like this Chevrolet from '59, are more sad looking affairs. The owner said it would cost him a couple of hundred dollars to get it back up and running, several times the average monthly salary.
In any case, most people can't even afford to buy or own cars.Those that do rely on remittances sent in from abroad, or hand me downs from one generation to the next. Hence this near empty autopista, a three lane highway built with Soviet money.
At this time, Cuba entered what Castro called the 'Special Period in a TIme of Peace.' Cost cutting Innovations included the stretch Lada... Other initiatives included enforced car sharing when hitchhiking.
As a tourist though, we experienced a different world to the working Cuban. Casas Particulares may be amongst the cheapest official forms of accommodation for foreigners, but at 20 CUCs per night, they cost the equivalent of the average Cuban's monthly wage. Like their British counterparts, casas promise massive breakfasts. A spread like this will typically set you back 3 CUCs - a little over 3US.
In fact, everyone seems to have something going on on the side - time and time again we were told how hard it was to survive on salaries or pensions alone compared to the 'glory days' of the 80s. Like much of Latin America, remittances from families living abroad play a big part of the economy. Casas Particulares are one of the best businesses to be in, though there's a limit of two rooms per household, and high government taxes are levied. Here, Nick grapples with another Times Crossword in our beautiful casa in Matanzas.
Almost all are incredibly well kept. This is where we had breakfast on our first morning in Havana. In a country where nothing is squandered or wasted, some felt more like museums than homes.
No doubt estate agents would go crazy for those original features. But in Cuba, there's no over inflated housing market - homes are swapped for ones of a similar size rather than bought and sold.
Out on the street, it's a different story. Most people can only afford to use the local currency, the Peso National. At twenty four pesos to a single CUC, your tourist money goes a long way. As you can see, even a sandwich won't set you back more than 5 pesos - a fifth of a CUC. That's not much more than 20c.
In the countryside, amongst orchards of citrus fruit, this juice bar was a real find. A glass of fresh papaya juice here cost half a peso. About 2 cents.
The peso pizza is a Cuban staple: hunk of white bread and fatty cheese that will set you back 20c. To the lucky ones travelling with foreign currency in their pockets, Cuba suddenly becomes embarrassingly cheap.
The collision of these two worlds is evident all around. Trinidad's cobbled streets add even more character to this UNESCO heritage city...
... while the suburbs, where the majority of Cubans seem to live, are not quite so idyllic.
A few swanky resorts aside, at least everyone has access to the beach. The main tourist draw is Cuba's stunning waters, home as they are to the largest coral reef in the world. While the big, government-run resorts have bagsied the main cays, there's still plenty of public spots to stop and cool off, like Punta Perdiz, on the way to Playa Larga.
Truly idyllic...
In fact, this spot was just down the road from Playa Giron, on the Bahia de los Cochinos: the Bay of Pigs, a failed CIA-backed operation to regain control of Cuba. Rumour has it there have been 617 attempts on Fidel's life, including an exploding conch hidden on the ocean floor in an area he liked to dive in...
Aside from its growing tourism business, Cuba also relies on its sugar cane and tobacco production, exported to Latin America. Cuban medical knowhow is also exchanged for Venezuelan oil. The travel-restricted Cuban doctors are allowed two years working in Venezuela, before returning home for good.
They certainly need the money. A history teacher we spoke to in Matanzas could see nothing positive about the revolution - citing the government's control over freedom of speech and Cuba's fall from economic glory as prime examples. As seen by this shell of a building close to the waterfront.
Moving on from Matanzas, the ride back to Havana unearthed this few quiet detour, away from the main Via Blanca that feeds into the capital.
...revealing yet more beguiling turquoise waters. With a few more days in hand, this would have made (yet another) perfect stopover for the night.
But our seventeen day journey was coming to an end. So we pushed on, fuelled by fresh sugar cane juice sold by the roadside.
Past the Olympic Stadium, on the outskirts of Havana...
Perhaps a little worse for wear these days, a poster of Che still stands proud and tall. Considering its size, Cuba has been incredibly successful at the Olympic games, and even ranked 5th in the medals table in 1992. Baseball and boxing are particularly big sports here.
Yet more Socialist propoganda greeted our arrival to the city, including billboards quoting the adverse effects of the trade embargo on the Cuban schooling and health system.
Back in La Habana. This is the original boat that transported Fidel and his 'army' of 82 fighters from Mexico to Cuba in 1956. It's protected behind glass and guard 24 hours a day.
The end of our journey. There can be few places as atmospheric as the Malecon. The sun was just setting as cycled towards the waterfront. Time just for one last sunset stroll...
Goodbye Cuba. Nick and I agreed this has been one of our best tours together. Cuba is a place that's hard not to imagine returning to. I'm already hatching plans for a cross country tour...
A side trip to Cuba – first impressions of Havana
December 5, 2010
So, after my stint in the States, I’m now back in Guatemala and heading south once more. Finally!
Except that I’ve returned to Central America by way of a short visit to the Caribbean island of Cuba. It’s a country I’d long wanted to experience on two wheels, having first visited as a youngster with my family in 1986, the second year its communist doors were opened to tourism.
Cuba also seemed the perfect place for a Gilbert Brothers Cycling Adventure. Although I doubt Nick would label himself a ‘cyclist’ as such, over the last decade we’ve clocked up tours in several exotic destinations – Syria, Tunisia, India and Kyrgyzstan. The difference here is that Nick’s now married, and the proud father of a seventeen month old baby, over whom he dotes ceaselessly. This is the first time here’s been away from his son, so Cuba’s safe, easy going and relatively flat credentials fit the bill perfectly. And its promise of winter sun makes the ideal escape from a British November…
Although this post may be filled with images of cars, there are actually relatively few in La Habana, given the size of the city. The majority of those that are here are relics of the past. As someone who yeans for traffic-free cities yet is gripped by a strange fascination for the gasguzzlers of yesteryear, this was already two big ticks for me. Curvy Buicks, Chevrolets and Chryslers, painted as brightly as the buildings, lent the place a timewarped charm which seduced me immediately.
Anyway, I didn’t get a chance to use the net much while we were in Cuba, hence the recent comms silence. Wifi options were few and fare between, and the state sanctioned internet cafes charged a hefty $7 an hour. What follows below are some first impressions I jotted down after a couple of days. A report of our fantastic two week journey will follow shortly.
November 18th
I have yet to even take to the Cuban roads on two wheels, as Havana is the perfect size for walking. But I’m already taken by this city’s take on life: it’s fusion of Latin and Carribean charisma, and the faded beauty of its buildings. From the moment our taxi turned into Centro Habana and began to wend its way to our casa, I could almost feel a tangible energy on its streets.
There’s a sense of community I’ve never seen in a city this size. Politics aside, a part of the reason would seem to underline my theory on car-centric cultures. Predominantly vehicle-free, Havana’s broad streets are free of both background danger and physical clutter. With all this space, there’s room for people to stroll, for kids to play heated games of football, and parents to push their prams without fear of cars razoring by at any second. I’m sure this lends itself to a more relaxed state of being, even if it is a subconscious one.
Kids playing football outside our 'casa particular'. Barely a car on the street.
Why are the roads so quiet? Very few cars have been imported since the US trade sanctions that followed the Revolution, effectively freezing the country and embalming the cars that were here from the heady days of the Bastista regime. These days, those old bohemoths have been transformed from relics of the past to everyday transport providers.
The owner of this '59 Buick (the year of the Revolution) proudly popped its hood to show us the original engine. However, as various other oily parts languished forlornly on the back seat, it didn't look like it would be going anywhere soon. He still needed another 100 dollars to get it up and running, a small fortune to Cubans, who typically earn between 15 and 25 dollars a month. Our first clue as to how tight money is in socialist Cuba.
A rare few are in immaculate condition though. I stopped to take a photo of this one in Havana Vieja. '1949' said an elderly Cuban with white hair, pausing as he ambled by. We both look upon it, admiring its curviness. 'Beautiful. But expensive to run. And the parts are hard to find these days.'
Pristine interior. Only the airfreshener (and perhaps the dangling monkey) point to the passing of half a century.
Quiet roads = a more relaxed living space. The domino brigade take their seats on the Malecon...
... Havana's famous sea wall where musicians gather, and lovers canoodle...
... and kids time their scampering with the swell of the Atlantic's crashing waves.
Doubtless, the warm and balmy climate lends itself to a loitering culture. To whistling and cat calls. People watching. Which we indulge in too (well, the people watching, rather than the cat calls), from the terrace of our casa particular in Centro Habana, our officially sanctioned accommodation.
It’s a Friday night, and we watch the scene unravel below. Under the yellowy glow of a street lamp, a man in a vest, somewhat surreally holding back a dalmatian tugging at its leash, is in animated conversation with a few friends. A gang of skinny kids run by, shaven headed and barechested, pausing to do press ups in the middle of the street. Then a couple lurch past, a half empty bottle of rum in one hand. Again, I’m taken by all this room to roam. Our street, which leads directly to the sea front, is almost car free. Along its entire length – at least a dozen blocks – I count less than twenty. The sense of space that’s created is refreshing. And with it comes a different urban soundtrack. The incessant city sound of passing cars is replaced by chatter and music, emitting from tall, open wooden doors and shutters.
Havana is a city of people watchers, and like us, locals observe the world going by from the vantage points of their wrought iron balconies. Doorways open right out into the street. Each offers its own slice of life: a family huddled round an old TV watching a telenovela, or settling down for dinner, the smell of fish wafting enticingly from the kitchen. Although parts of Havana Vieja have been spruced up with tourist money, for the most part buildings seem timeworn; faded, crumbling, and decorated with clothesline strung this way and that like a game of cat’s craddle. Small groups gather on corners; men with their vests rolled high up above their belly buttons, or girls in leggings that defy the sweltering heat (to Cubans, this is the middle of winter…).
Havana: a city of hanging laundry and people watchers...
And what we do see out on the road is different from anything I have seen before: crazy, homemade recumbent bicycle taxis weaving between classic goliath Chevrolets, replete with bright, peeling paintwork and windows wound right down.
Splashes of colour amongst dilapidated buildings, some of which are merely shells propped up by wooden scaffolding.
However, beneath the romance of it all and the glossy influx of much needed tourist dollars, there’s few opportunities to forget that this is still a staunchly socialist country, ruled for half a century with the heavy hand of Fidel Castro. Although the message seems quieter in city centre, a visit to the Plaza de la Revolution or a ride along the roads leading out of the capital reveals massive placards and billboards standing loud and proud.
Just as noticeable though is the complete lack of product-driven advertising, which lends itself to a consumer-free livestyle amongst Cubans that would now be impossible back home – though here it is as much as anything by necessity rather than personal choice.
You're never far from the party message. Reading matter in an outdoor market bookstore.
And more Fidel themed images In a hotel lobby. These photos depict Castro with various diginitaries, including one with Robert Redford from 1988.
It's not all crumbling colonial housing. This is the modernist Hotel Habana Libre. Preciously owned by the Hyatt, it was commandeered just nine months after its completion in the uprising of 1959.
Up on the first floor of the Habana Libre, we saw this mural, made in 1973.
Mural detail.
Amongst its incredibly varied architecture, Havana is home to an art deco quarter too.
And everpresent throughout the city, the face that adorns so many T shirts and posters all around the world. The people's revolutionary, Ernesto 'Che' Guevera, tacked up on a wall in a market.
