of the price they would be at home,
I bought a few. Unlike the mythical
dusky maidens rolling cigars on their
thighs, he was as wrinkly and brown
as the cigars he had made for fifty
years following on from his father
and grandfather.
We spent much of the evening in
his bar up the road, drinking mojitos
and beer and eating black beans and
rice in the company of some French
tourists who had arrived in Havana
by boat. Despite disapproval from
the stern landlady at our casa par-
ticular who wanted us to spend our
breakfast money at her place, we ate
breakfast there as well. There were
around the mountain range and its
limestone mogotes sticking up like
giant teeth. We stopped by some
caves, not immediately realising their
significance.
Cueva de Los Portales is the cave
complex where Che Guevara hid
and coordinated the Cuban defence
forces during the Cuban missile crisis
in October 1962 whilst the rest of the
world waited with bated breath in
the face of possible nuclear annihila-
tion. His bed, chair and desk were on
show. It was a tranquil riverside spot
which belied the drama behind his
being there.
Puerto Esperanza is a pleasant
coastal town with some of the cheap-
est rum Chris had encountered any-
where. There was a twenty-four hour
bar shack serving it.
The guest house was the best so
far. Dinner was fresh fish, line-
caught from the end of the long jetty
by the owner’s grandson and served
with the usual black beans and rice.
Afterwards we explored the local
night-life. Loud karaoke was going
on in the beach bar so we had a quick
peek in the local community centre
where a girl was having her fifteenth
birthday party. This is as significant
as our eighteenth celebrations except
for the ensuing right to vote for a
political party in this one-party re-
public. Originating in the time of the
Aztec’s, it celebrates the transition
no eggs today but the pastelitos and
from girlhood to womanhood. Then
coffee were good.
we visited the all-night bar to taste
Five kilometres east, we came
the rum and I stayed long enough to
upon Güira National Park, entered
through the gates of the former Haci- realise how dependent on it plenty of
enda Cortina. We started on a short- the local people were.
Turning eastwards along the coast
cut over the mountains towards the
the
next day we stopped for a break
coast. But Hector overheated due to
at La Palma. I sampled a glass of
the gradient of the heavily pot-holed
delicious sugar-cane juice and bought
road. I also realised with alarm that
a CD of 1940s Cuban music sung by
I had left my beloved Australian hat
back at San Diego de los Baños. Chris a crooner with a voice which sound-
ed as sepia as his photo on the front
empathised completely and insisted
on returning for it. So we abandoned cover. The road from La Palma to the
coast near the island of Caya Levisa
the idea of going through the park
was the bumpiest yet and progress
and went back, this time taking the
was painfully slow and rattly. We
longer but less demanding route
TRAVERSE 67