LIFE ON THE ROAD RErealal travel By Christopher P. Baker Chasing Che’s Chevy ’s Circuito Sur—circling the Sierra Maestra mountains by motorcycle.

liked the panache of touring Cuba by motocycle. I saw to breathe in the mountain air and myself as a latter-day Che Guevara, whose own motor- listen to the agreeable silence bro- ken only by birdsong and the buzz cycle journey would have been the adventure of a life- of myriad insects. time had he not met Fidel. ¶ The bike would turn my On the coastal plains south of own travels into an adventure. And nowhere in Cuba the port city of Manzanillo, the Iserves up adventure as much as the Sierra Maestra, the rugged sugarcane fields have been burned mountain range in the south of the island from where Che and for the zafra (the sugar harvest), and field hands—macheteros—in tat- Fidel launched their Revolution in earnest in 1956. The Circuito tered linens and straw sombreros Sur highway, which wraps around the Sierra Maestra, delivers are slashing at the charred stalks with blunt-nosed machetes. Hot, adventure in spades—a perfect territory. Every other turn offers a dirty work. They look as if they tropical cocktail of adrenalin- heart-stopping drop-off, with spec- themselves have been put to the charged curves, rugged terrain, tacular vistas over plains resem- torch. Black smoke rises in twirling and superlative vistas. bling a Spanish mantilla. I pause tornadoes, eddying up from fires The trip begins in earnest west of Bayamo, capital of Cuba’s … a perfect tropical cocktail of adrenalin-charged south-eastern Granma province, where the traffic thins down to curves, rugged terrain and superlative vistas. a few tractors and wooden carts pulled by sturdy oxen, drop- ping long stalks of sugarcane as they go. Snowy white egrets lift off from the Day-Glo canefields studded by royal palms rising like silver-sheathed Corinthian columns. Then I pass a Chevro- let Styleline Deluxe, gleaming as brightly in the sunlight as the day in 1952 when it rolled off the factory floor in Detroit. Time it- self seems to have stopped on the carretera midway between Bayamo and Vequita. At the small town of Yara I detour south and climb into the Sierra Maestra via a switchback so twisty it makes me feel diz- zy. The bike and I cant as one, arcing gracefully through the curves of serried ranges and for- bidding valleys. Ideal guerrilla Motorcycle magic on Cuba’s Circuito Sur.

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The rugged terrain of Cuba’s Sierra Maestra.

that taint the idyll with the sickly miles east of Marea del Portillo. I sea. Cuba’s highest peaks lie within sweet stench of molasses. run at the water’s edge lined with fingertip distance. South of Manzanillo I feel deliri- wild, windswept beaches. The light is fading as I round a ously light-hearted as I cruise down Then the trail claws its way final bend and see the wan lights the empty road with the mountains over great headlands and hangs of Santiago de Cuba in the dis- on one side and the Caribbean suspended in air before cascad- tance. A rubicund radiance mantles Sea on the other. I’m riding with ing steeply to the next valley. In the mountains. Slanting sunlight a heightened sense of awareness, places the angles seem impossible. splashes Santiago’s rooftops with so attuned to the BMW and my But the BMW seems not to notice. fiery vermilion. Then the sublime surroundings—the smells, the sun’s Amazingly, I pass a five-decades- conflagration is extinguished, leav- rays, the warm wind caressing my old Chrysler New Yorker chugging ing only a memory of the enchant- skin—that I’m not even thinking. uphill in the other direction, im- ment of the Cuban landscape at Beyond Sevilla the road wends pervious to the mountain terrain. sunset. As I pull up to my hotel and down through a narrow ravine, Beyond the Río Macio, mark- haul my motorcycle onto the side- spilling me onto the coastal plains ing the boundary with Santiago de stand, I grin broadly and sigh with that run along the southern base Cuba province, I pick up the hard- satisfaction, knowing that I could of the Sierra Maestra. On the long top again. Copper-coloured cliffs never have got so close to so much straight, I move into top gear and loom massively out of the teal-blue beauty inside a car. open the throttle wide. I cook down the highway, the bike purring sexi- ly as it eats up the hardtop in a sen- suous intertwining of glorious har- monics and warm, perfumed air. The landscape changes abruptly. I pass goats munching in stony pas- tures studded with cactus. There’s not a store or cafe for miles and it’s a relief to break for a late lunch at the Marea del Portillo beach resort, where hotels stud a vast bay be- neath cloud-draped mountains. My map shows the route along O P) the coast as a dirt track as far as Chivírico, just east of Santiago de Cuba, a distance of about 80 miles.

mages (T I mages Panoramic The enduro course begins a few A schoolboy and old man taking life easy…

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cuba Caribbean charisma in a country of contradictions The legend lives on—hasta siempre Cuba. Words and Photographs By deja dragovic

t’s a sunny Tuesday mid-afternoon and I’m standing on around the world. Except that this the wide Capitolio stairs waiting for my local guide Juan, a is Cuba and this year the country philosophy and communications tutor at the Universidad is celebrating half a century since the revolution that made it the only de la Habana. He’s running late and I am getting too much communist country in the Western attentionI from the passers-by. Trying to ignore the salutations hemisphere. It’s been 47 years since and accompanying remarks, I concentrate on a man wedged un- the United States economic embar- der a bright green 1950s Chevrolet that has broken down in the go and travel ban intended to keep out mainstream westernisation. middle of the boulevard, And this island is still where he is fixing it. famed for its resistance Vibrant vintage and hostility to the U.S. Buicks, Lincolns and influence in the region. Fords are passing, along These kids raise their with peculiar limo mod- left fists and chant els of Russian Ladas “Seremos como el Che— from the 1960s, all sur- We will be like Che” prisingly still in decent every morning, and shape. Add to that a few learn about freedom horse-drawn carriages and human rights— and pick-up trucks the same freedom and jammed with men. No rights that the govern- one is honking at him ment still regulates. or yelling because he is That morning I disrupting the traffic. spent meandering Instead, bubbly coco- among beautiful colo- nut taxis—yellow three- nial properties of Ha- wheelers with a curved vana’s district roof, a Cuban version of and stood alone on a motorised rickshaw— Painting by a local artist (above). A church in Trinidad (above Plaza de la Revolución are whizzing by, com- right). Three-wheel coconut taxis (bottom right). imagining the echoes pleting the picture of eccentric singing, flirting with girls and tour- of revolutionary cliques, while ad- transportation in this city. ists, reading the papers, smoking, miring a mural reproduction of Al- Juan arrives and starts poetically debating, playing chess, playing berto Korda’s legendary capture of describing the history of the city as baseball… The sounds of sensual Che Guevara. Mythical Che, look- we head toward Plaza San Cristo- music are coming from above and ing ahead to his dreams, his gaze bal through the dark and narrow every balcony seems to double as full of determination. streets of La Habana Vieja (Old storage, holding bicycles and old We visit the peaceful Plaza San ), filled with people and furniture under washing lines. Cristobal and its imposing cathe- stray dogs. The number of people is School children in white and bur- dral, greeting a fortune-teller sit- due, Juan says, to the large unem- gundy uniforms are cheerful and ting smoking a large cohíba and ployment rate. They are dancing, untroubled, much like any others shuffling cards. She offers to read

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my palm, but instead I give her a at the prestigious El in accomModation few dollars for a photograph and Obispo, a bar/restaurant famous as Cuban Stays we continue walking to the flea Hemingway’s favourite haunt. She market. A few modest handicraft also makes little wooden souvenirs For an authentic experience, stalls sit alongside an alfresco gal- for sale at a flea market and souve- book private lodgings at www lery of original paintings by local nir shops in Varadero. .casaparticular.org. Havana artists. We stroll on through cob- It is not easy to come by money has several palatial hotels, bled streets, dodging holes in the or a steady job, so many head to Va- including Hotel Inglaterra ground and propositions from jin- radero’s resorts in season to work (www.hotelinglaterracuba teros (hustlers). as cleaners, drivers and caretakers, .com) and Hotel Plaza (www. Later that evening I join Juan where they rely on generous tips hotelplazacuba.com). Hostal and his friends on the Malecón, a from tourists. They are prohib- Valencia is affordable and seafront promenade where groups ited from approaching the tour- central. In Santiago, Hotel of young, old, lovers and families ists outside their line of work, but Casagranda’s rooftop terrace mingle. They speak confidently secretly offer tours, salsa lessons, bar offers an unrivalled view and openly about life, politics and hand-made crafts, or even sex, to of the city and great cocktails. religion, explaining the intricacies make extra money. Prostitution is Varadero prevails in all- of contemporary society as they widespread and also depends on inclusive hotels and family know it, in which the revolutionary tourism, with offers to try “the real resorts. The Sol Meliá chain past still has a strong influence on Cuban treat” and “dance the real (www.solmeliacuba.com) education, religion Cuban dance”. are reputable and must-visit and principles. The following places include El Floridita bar On the other evening I meet the in Havana (www.floridita-cuba. hand, the poverty same crew at La com) and La Bodeguita del is widespread and Bodeguita del Me- Medio in . Book people, particular- dio, an authentic guides, tours and excursions ly the young, are bar in the centre, via www.cubadirect.co.uk. yearning for mod- sporting inscrip- Direct flights from London to ern amenities and tions on the walls Havana with Virgin Atlantic shun their beliefs made by visitors (www.virgin-atlantic.com) for extra cash to over the years, and Cubana Aviation (www survive. Some are revolutionary and .cubana.cu); to Varadero with still studying to be affectionate slo- Thomsonfly (www.thomson doctors, language and history spe- gans and autographs, with “Make .co.uk) and Thomas Cook cialists, but they say those salaries Love, Not War” alongside beautiful (flythomascook.com). Check will not be enough for them and poetic verses by Borges, Márquez bus schedules at www.viazul their families. So they try supple- and Cuba’s own José Martí. .cu and train times at www. menting their income by renting In the corner, a four-member hicuba.com/ferrocarril.htm. out their flats as Casas Particulares, band is playing softly and I slip private accommodation. They mar- them US$5 for a request of “La His- ket them as a great opportunity for toria de un Amor”, to the general travellers to experience and partic- amazement of my compañeros. Per- ipate in the real Cuban lifestyle and haps they expected me to request practise their Spanish or rumba. “Guajira Guantanamera”, Cuba’s Soledad rents out her flat and best-known song. La Bodeguita is performs with her ensemble in only narrow, so Manuel and Alena clubs and hotels. Her brother dance outside the bar while we sip Manuel is rhythmically beating delicious mojitos. his bongo and says he works in Soledad is heading to perform in Fundación Havana Club, but of- Santiago’s famous music district, Sol Meliá has a good reputation. ten drives a taxi or tours that Juan Calle Heredia, so I hop on the bus heads. His girlfriend Alena works with her. We travel across dusty

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lodgings. It all feels less hurried than in Havana. We get back on the road to Santiago, which, though much less relaxed than Trinidad, is still welcoming. Dilapidated and crumbling facades surround us, scuffed, neglected and awaiting better times. Some still display revolutionary slogans such as “Señores Imperialistas, No Les Tenemos Absolutamente Nungo Miedo!—Dear Imperialists, we have absolutely no fear of you”, a trace of former glory and of a once- ambitious insurgent nation. We reach the club where Soledad is to perform. Deep African tribal sounds fill the club; Soledad’s rum- ba is passionate, vigorous and skill- ful and I admire her moves. Even A fortune-teller after a few lessons, I am certain I smoking a cohíba. will never achieve the same vibran- Opposite: The cy, even though she assures me I rooftops of Havana. am not bad—for a tourist. I leave her to her performance Cuba’s revolutionary past still has a strong and take an overnight train back influence on education, religion and principles. to Havana, sharing snacks with some traveling locals. Soon after interstates and dirt roads, passing sustainable development that most daybreak I arrive in Matanzas, scattered settlements, villages and other countries are struggling to where I disembark for a visit to the valleys of banana groves and sugar- attain. Although the authorities nearby popular beaches of Vara- cane plantations. On the way I spot don’t have the resources to pro- dero. I think of all the friendly and many revolutionary slogans paint- tect the natural habitats, they un- educated people I have met, mak- ed on crumbling walls, such as the derstand the benefits of keeping ing their living far from these post- prevalent “Socialismo o Muerte!— out western mass tourism and are card-perfect white sandy beaches, Socialism or Death” and “Libertad working with many conservation flashy all-inclusive package holiday o Muerte!—Freedom or Death” in organisations and unions to safe- resorts with free-flowing rum. red and black block letters. Soledad guard their riches. This is not the anti-capitalist ide- explains the faded illusion of revo- We make a pit-stop in Trinidad, al that they fought to uphold. This lutionary ideals at what is now the central Cuba, a little town near the is not the country of cohíbas and end of Fidel’s uninterrupted five- Valle de los Ingenios (Valley of the colourful vintage cars. This is not decade rule. Sugar Mills). Under UNESCO’s what Che Guevara meant when he Cuba’s economy has seen some World Heritage protection since addressed the UN in 1964, speak- progress since the 90s tourism 1988, it is more manageable than ing of Cuba as “one of the trenches drive, with steady arrivals and in- Havana and its neighbourhoods of freedom in the world, situated a vestment from Latin America, and buildings are in better shape. few steps away from U.S. imperial- Canada and Europe. Due to its Barefoot and shirtless boys ism, showing by its actions, its daily isolation and poor infrastructure, play football on the cobbled dusty example, that in the present condi- Cuba has managed to preserve its streets, guajiros (farmers) tend tions of humanity the peoples can diverse, unique fauna and flora their meagre stalls, and no hustlers liberate themselves and can keep and natural attractions. It also has bother me with offers of tours or themselves free.”

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