“How much do they charge you?” the Hungarian couple sitting at the back of the car asked when the driver got out to look for another passenger. “20CUC. How about you?” I replied. “Don’t mention it. They ripped us off and we’ve changed cars several times already.” Before they finished the story, a French girl in her 20s hopped in and occupied the last seat of the vehicle which was taking us from Havana to Viñales, where tobacco fields and coffee farms abound.
In Cuba, there’re mainly three ways of traveling between cities. First, you can take a taxi, but for a budgeted solo traveler like me, it won’t be an option. Second, you can take Viazul buses, which are air-conditioned and provide fixed timetables. As they’re always full, you’d better reserve a seat on their official website in advance. Third, you can share a Colectivo with other travelers. Many consider it more convenient as the driver will pick you up and drop you off at your accommodations. While its price is slightly higher than those Viazul buses, it saves you around one-third of traveling time. Simply ask your casa host to arrange it for you. It’s more reliable than flagging one in the street, and they can guarantee a better price. The Hungarian couple was a misfortune case I supposed.
Yuri was waiting at her doorsteps when I tumbled out of the car with my heavy backpack. After settling in, she asked me if I’d be interested in taking the horse-riding excursion to tobacco fields. Without any plan that afternoon, I decided to go for it even though the gloomy sky was giving me the final warning. It’s the first mistake that I made in Viñales. Within the first 15 minutes, drizzle turned into a heavy rain. Luis, the tour guide, led me to his friend’s barn and we took shelter there for two hours until we ran out of things to say. The way back wasn’t an easy journey for a novice. Cantering on the horse on rugged, muddy roads, I tried my best to balance myself while dodging through tree branches poking out from the sides. Reaching upon a flooded slope, Luis asked me to get down on my feet as horse-riding was not possible in that situation. It took me a while to figure out how to get to the end of the path and every step on the slippery boulders was nerve-racking.
The next morning, the scorching sun chased away dark, ragged clouds, spilling intense light and heat all over the mountains and fields. Taking my host’s suggestion, I rented a bike for 10CUC and embarked on my trip to Mural de la Prehistoria, a 120m-high painting on a perpendicular slope, and Cueva del Indio, an ancient indigenous dwelling discovered in 1920.
The distance from the city center to Mural de la Prehistoria is around 4km. You can take a glimpse of the mural when driving pass or enter the site to get a closer look (entrance fee: 3CUC including a drink of your choice). Sitting at the bar, I ordered a can of national beer Cristal while taking in the vibrant colors of the painting created by Cuban artist Leovigildo Gonzalez. Featuring the Megalocnus, Plesiosaurus and the Ammonites, the artwork represents the evolution of life in the country. The adventurous souls can hike up to the Mirador for panoramic views of the area. The trek is tricky and difficult to locate; guiding service is on offer for a fee.
To get to Cueva del Indio, it’s necessary to pass through the city center once again. A far cry from the scenic, serene ride that I imagined, the 12km route involved a lot of steep slopes and was filled with dust and black smoke emitted by trucks, buses, old cars, and motorbikes. My legs were sore; my knees were injured when I made way for a truck; my arms got sunburnt; the idea of turning back and giving up keep popping up in my mind. I stopped by El Palenque de los Cimarrones, a restaurant built inside a cave that turns into a disco at night, for refreshment. “Not far away at all…it’s only one kilometer away.” The bartender waved me off as I continued my way to the Cueva.
Luckily, I arrived Cueva del Indio 15 minutes before it closed. It’s unnerving to walk alone inside a dark cave in silence that only broken by the sounds of dripping water and bats. After finding ways in the dark for a couple minutes, I finally met other tourists who were waiting for the boat to ply the underground river. This visit was short and far from a one-of-a-kind attraction that you cannot afford to miss, but my exhausting biking journey made it much more special.
I don’t remember how long I took to finish the 7km ride back to the city center. At some point, I needed to get down and push my bike uphill. As memorable as the experience was, I won’t recommend anyone to repeat it. The bartender told me there’s a hop-on-hop-off bus going around all the tourist spots at 5CUC per person.
Every time my friends asked me what happened to my roasted-sausage-like arms, I had to tell them this story. But instead of feeling how stupid my decision was to go on two wheels, I am more proud of myself for finishing the journey. When you’re alone in the road, you just have to keep moving.
My Cuban Stories:
Crystal on the journey 