The Cuba Story, the final chapter

Scare tactics to keep us around so we would feed their piggy bank? If that was it, the lobster chef knew how to deliver it. We just paid about two months work of pesos for our dinner yesternight. Had we stayed, we would have contributed another 20 more pesos for breakfast. We left. They gave us three mangos to take with us, if we lived to eat it. He loaned us his machete. Never trust a Cuban.

Coming out of the shower as Wolverine again, I donned a new t-shirt to go for breakfast. I then met Susana and Carolina in the beach bar area for some sweet tropical mangos. Louis and Ken would later joined us. Cuba could export these mangos to Canada. They are much juicier than the Florida mangos.

Today was my rest day before my conquest of a new world on Thursday. Our rental Hyundai was not due until 3pm though. Carolina had wanted to trek the real jungle. It would seem my plan was about to change again. By 12pm we were on the road toward the peaks. The mountain ranges were clearly visible from Ancon. There were many peaks. We just did not know which is which but only one road would lead up to our destination it seemed. The turista office was at the top of the collinas. One of the collinas.

There were many trails but only one was doable today. It would be a trail that would lead to some cave, the turista guide had said. Only 30 minutes of a hike or so. No guide required. No 4x4 needed to get there. Not the same trail I booked myself in for Thursday. This trail would do for today. I would visit the mountain again on Thursday. The excursion I had planned would be the finale of my stay in Cuba. This trek today would be to fill in the time, to kill some time, to explore and shoot the flora and fauna of Cuba. It would be a simple and short trek, not much to expect, but good enough for today. I would be able to rest for the big one tomorrow. Only about 30 minutes. Simple.

The trail was ridiculously hard. It took us 45 minutes to hike. "La Batata," I had read on a sign, reminded me of The Chief in Squamish for some reason. It was not the same of course. Squamish has no mountain cows and bulls, but I wondered how tall this hill was. Maybe 500m? This Chief is 500m tall. Certainly, our trail could not be as long or as tall as The Chief but the mountain itself was tall. Probably taller than 500m. We started near the top, the Topes de Collantes, so it would not be a 500m tall hike. Forty-five minutes it took us. Einstein was right. It seemed like an eternity. I started to have flashbacks of The Chief. I was at the back of the troop then and here again, I found myself trailing the expedition. On The Chief, we laughed our hearts out I remembered and we had stopped mid-way to rest by a cascade. There would be none here. Bone dry up this mountain. The hills were covered in tall tropical vegetation but the trail was open. The sun was at its azimuth point. Some clouds moved in. Great. Some shade at least, but just when we reached the top of a climb over clay, rocks, gravel, and dirt, we found ourselves at the foot of another climb. When was it going to end? Was there an end? Was there? Whose idea was it to hike this darn trail again? Louis had noticed my slow ascent. He had offered to carry my backpack twice for a while. No, I had said. This was my training for the Ride for Heart.

Uncle Fidel probably enjoys knowing his turistas would suffer in his jungles. He would be disappointed however to know we finally found some shade, some place to rest. He would have enjoyed it nevertheless for any torture his hills could impart on us. The shade could not arrived at a better time. We were heat exhausted. We stopped by a running creek under some canopy. Had we pushed further without resting, we could have collapsed from overheating and dehydration. I dropped my backpack on the forest floor and took the water bottle from the resort out. My water bottle was shared with three hikers today. I do not normally share my water but it could have been a life-and-death situation. The water went around the group. We could have probably drunk the creek water though. It was clear and cool. It was running water. Probably safe to drink. We cool off with the running water. I dipped my tilley hat in the water and dabbed my face. We were refreshed and ready to proceed. Fifty yards upstream, we found ourselves at the mouth of an opening into the mountain.

There were three Australian turistas, resting on rocks at the mouth. They were from the Casa de Cafe. We saw them sipping caliente cafe at the Casa de Cafe near the start of the trail. They had left ten minutes earlier. That was them.

I approached. I stood there a few seconds to absorb the vista. A cave. An open cave. There were a lot of greens all around the sides of the cave. It could have been a closed cave at some point but there was now a crack in the middle so light rays would illuminate the water in front of us. The cave seemed to lead to an opening at the other end. Louis had jumped in the water first to explore. I wondered what awaited us on the other side. I could not wait, but my photography job had to be done first. I pulled my tripod out of the backpack to shoot while the girls attempted their crossing. It was a rather small little pond but Susana was not comfortable with water. Louis had to help. All four of us eventually swam across, including my D80.

Nothing could quite describe the beauty in front of our eyes. More caves, more water. Stalagtites and stalagmites were prominent. A crack in the rocks would lead us up higher. A preservation of nature in the middle of Cuba in Topes de Collantes. I suddenly forgot where we were. It would seem like I was home in the north. Refreshed and cooled to the bone. This water was so cold but also so refreshing after an arduous hike. I was so removed from the fact I was in Cuba, so removed from the pain of the hike.

There were three cascades and possibly more, each one pouring into a pool of fresh water below. There were pebbles and sand in the little ponds but I had water shoes on. For the first time in years, I feared no cold water. It was no more than 10 degrees I would guess, but my body would take it. I felt so refreshed in this cool artic ice water. Each pool would cascade into lower pools and so the water would stream down, out of the cave to our pit stop 50 yards down through the small clearing. It was peaceful. An oasis in the middle of a forsaken jungle. It was a hidden paradise few have travelled to, I hope. I swam and climbed the cave. There was no more need for another mountain excursion. I did not want to know how the Thursday excursion would be. I was happy. My camera was happy.

We soon had to leave this paradise. It was hard to leave. I did not want to leave. It was too bad. We had to. We were already one hour late to return the rental so off we went, quickly back to the car. Fidel's backyard was conquered but I left with a sense of both awe and humility.

As we were leaving something hit me. I screwed my camera settings, again. I had left my aperture closed too small because of previous shots I had made on the trail. It was too late. I could not return to recapture the moments. We had to leave. I would never return to this sacred place of paradise. I cursed myself for this rookie mistake, again. Was my conquest in vain? No, a feeling cannot be completely recorded on some CCD technology. It was in my memories. We returned to the resort.

My Thursday was uneventful. I had promised Susana I would do a photoshoot for her fashion belt in Trinidad. I had to keep my word. Even if I had wanted to go on the mountain excursion I had planned since the weekend, I would not go. It would not be right and I would not have the opportunity to shoot a Cuban girl modeling a fashion belt. The idea was exciting. I was in Cuba to explore. I had explored the mountains already so the idea of shooting a model in Cuba was more precious than a second excursion into the mountain. I did the shoot late in the day and had spent more time in the cobblestoned neighbourhoods. I returned to the resort early to rest to catch the 7am bus in the morning of Friday. My amigos stayed up until 3am soaking in the last few minutes of Cuban time.

The trip ended with one last drive through the country of Cuba. The country near Trinidad is scorched with poverty. Life seemed easier as we drove farther away from Trinidad however, just as we have seen in Cienfuegos. Trinidad was a beautiful city in ruins. Trinidad might be the capital of poverty in Cuba. Perhaps.

We arrived at the Santa Clara international airport at 10am. I had my 25 pesos saved from my first day. I had exchanged my Canadian currency for 88 pesos. I had put away the 25 pesos to be used for today. We all checked in and took flight CU185 back home. I took a picture of my new amigos on the tarmac. Except for Mark. He had forgotten his passport at the hotel. Louis and Ken worked out an arrangement with an airline representative for Mark. He would stay alone in Cuba for another night or another day and would fly out from either Havana or Varadero. I hope he is back in Canada.

I still have not sent the pictures to the Irish couple I met on the stairs of Casa de Musica. Simon was it? No, Tony. His e-mail has "TONY" in it. I should do that now.