At first, I felt that my right thigh was burning, and then the sensation and pain progressively intensified. I had to run back into the water to cool off my irritated skin. The chilly water soothed my pain a little but didn’t stop those disgusting, swollen rashes spreading over my leg. That’s the time I felt the possible dangers of traveling solo. If something unfortunate arises, your problem-solving skill is all you got. There’s no shoulder to cry on or much time to panic. You have to figure things out by yourself and seek help from strangers – if any – who happen to be around.

Sitting in the bus departing from Cienfuegos to Trinidad, a small town in Central Cuba, I couldn’t wait to make a beeline for the pristine Ancon Beach. A Cuban adventure wouldn’t be completed without taking a dip in the Carribean Sea. Nick, a Hong Kong radiologist who I met at the bus terminal, accepted my invitation to the ocean on such a beautiful day. Can you imagine how uplifting it is to meeting someone from your home city when traveling alone, especially in Cuba where Asians are rare to be found?

With four spacious bedrooms and an airy backyard, my casa in Trinidad was exquisite and beautifully decorated. The room I reserved belonged to Yadel, who’s now living and working in Italy, where his ex-wife was from. Though it’s very difficult for Cuban people to stay overseas, through marriage it’s not impossible. I heard that some young Cuban guys intentionally flirt with European female tourists in clubs and bars, looking to charm and win them over for a flight ticket or even citizenship of her home country. Of course, we shouldn’t tick off the chance of true love.

After unloading my luggage and putting on a bikini, I met up with Nick outside the nearest tobacco shop and took a taxi to Ancon Beach, a 15-min ride from the heart of Trinidad. For convenience, we asked our driver to pick us up in two hours.

As the peak season was over two months ago, Ancon Beach was relatively quiet. Around five meters from where we settled in, a young lady was enjoying the mild sun with a book in hand, while a loving couple was dancing to some salsa music blasting out from their mobile device. We spent a good hour sunbathing, swimming in the turquoise water, taking hundreds of photos and sharing our travel plans.

Half an hour before leaving the tropical paradise, I decided to immerse myself in the Caribbean sea for one last time. I wouldn’t have done that if I could go back in time but we all know ‘what if’ doesn’t exist. Everything was perfect – just a heap of annoying seaweed kept touching my legs when I was treading water – until something soft slid pass my right thigh all of a sudden and brought me an instant pain. My first reaction was to grab that sneaky creature (not wise to do). Opening my palm, I could only see a white silky thread. Could that be a jellyfish or some poisonous sea plants?

Kicking my way slowly back to the shore and stumbling to my towel mat, I started examining my thigh, which looked close to a German sausage on a wood-burning grill. In hope of cooling off the pain, I headed back to the water and soaked my leg in. The liquid did its job to diminish my intense sensation but those nasty rashes spreading over my skin had already made my blood run cold. I needed a medical professional!

Nick and I barely talked in the taxi. I was worried and there’s nothing more he could say to console me. I couldn’t wait to be back into the casa as Yadel’s sister is coincidentally a doctor. She’s currently at home on maternal leave. I explained my situation to her with my pidgin Spanish (Thank god I speak a little bit of the language). Having a brief look on my thigh, she told me several possible reasons for the inflammation, which I could barely understand except her reassurance it’d get better with rest and some cream. And that’s enough.

After an ultra long shower (because of the unbelievably small water pressure), I was relieved seeing the rashes and the infected area of my thigh shrank in size. That night,  Nick and I went to Restaurante San Jose, ranked no.1 on TripAdvisor for good reasons. Their grilled lobster – an all-time favorite in Cuba – was scrumptious and cooked to perfection. The Arroz congri (rice with black bean) on the side was one of the best in the country. Don’t forget their heavenly-good, thirst-quenching mango juice freshly blended with ice. If you fancy a cocktail, treat yourself a mojito or daiquiri. Drinks in Cuba are generally cheap (around US$3–4) but be careful of the amount you down as bartenders here are generous. They pour at least three shots of Havana rum into one mojito.

While I should have gone back to rest after such a terrifying day, the fame of Casa de la Muscia had lured me to spend the night listening to some authentic salsa tunes. Situated on the sweeping staircase next to La Iglesia Parroquial de la Santísima, Casa de la Muscia is arguably the best music venue in town. From 9pm to 11pm, locals and tourists alike would congregate here for a live music show and signature Cuban boozes. You may even show off your salsa steps in front of the stage. The 2CUC entrance fee is totally worth the price.

Trinidad is a perfect base from which to explore the Valle de los Ingenios, a UNESCO heritage site where you can see stunning landscapes of sugar cane plantations; or to dive into Topes Collantes nature reserve park for wildlife encounters and a cool dip at the waterfalls. Sadly I didn’t book the tours in advance so I could only wander around the cobblestone streets the next morning. There’re several museums in town; the must-visit one is Palacio Cantero, an eye-catching NeoClassical colonial mansion which showcases a plethora of antiques and frescoes. Here, not only can you learn more about the history of the slave-trading era but also take in panoramic views of the city from the roof of the palace.

It’s not easy to gain access to the Internet in Cuba and MAPS.ME – a mobile app of offline maps – was my savior. I’d randomly pick an attraction marked with a star and embarked on my adventure. A sunflower farm on the outskirt of town, one-kilometer walk from the famous Plaza Mayor, seemed captivating to a city dweller like me. The farther away from the city center, the fewer the tourists and the shabbier of the buildings you’d see. It’s the true life of Cubans without the whitewash of tourism.

A “No Cruzar (No crossover)” sign was separating me from the golden yellow field gleaming behind the gate. At the moment I decided to turn around with disappointment, an old man at around 80 beckoned me over and welcomed me into his secret garden. The sunflower farm is a government property and he’s been working there for his whole life. Showing me a variety of plants, the kind senior also asked me a lot of questions about Hong Kong and its people. With a language barrier, communication wasn’t easy but we tried our best to understand each other. He offered to pick a sunflower for me as a souvenir but I politely rejected. Those pretty creatures are better to grow and glow than to wither in my room.