With a free day we headed for the local covered market.  Dia del Madre.  Mother’s Day and it’s a big deal.  Flowers and hearts everywhere.  More like Valentine’s Day.

There was the usual tourist llama stuff but mostly it was for locals buying food and clothes.  These people do colour big style.  The Cusco flag is a rainbow but 7 colours just aren’t enough.  Nothing matches and it’s just brilliant.

Aisles of fruit, bread, cheese then enough seeds, nuts and quinoa to keep any foodie happy.   One aisle just of fruit juice.  Anything you want blended for about £1.50.  We went for the safe options.  Orange juice and egg?   Not sure about that.  Then the hot food aisles selling chicken soup and various stews with crowds of families sat for Mother’s Day lunch.   It reminded me of the Singapore hawkers markets.  Then the meat.   Dried alpaca in huge flat yellowish sheets, the usual pork and chicken etc, and then the bits we don’t see at home.   Pig heads and testicles, cows noses , alpaca trotters, a whole aisle of tripe.  The smell was pretty overwhelming.

Outside was more chaotic, every inch of pavement taken with plastic sheets laden with whatever produce, loudspeakers proclaiming their mandarins were the cheapest, fireworks randomly going off, cars ploughing through the crowds blaring their horns to let you know to get off the street, but you can’t because the pavement is full of fruit and veg, then a random religious parade with a brass band.

Tim’s altitude sickness returned in the afternoon.  We will be going lower tomorrow to the Sacred Valley.  He can’t wait although he’s loved it here too but he’s suffering.  I am completely in love with this place.  I had been led to believe it was a tourist watering hole on the way to Machu Pichu and it couldn’t be further from the truth.  Yes, the city thrives on tourism and every other shop is selling you a hiking trip or pony trek, but it’s beautiful and vibrant and you can feel the history in every stone.  Admittedly I have bought a llama hoodie, gloves and hat (it’s f*****g freezing at night) and you are all getting llama key rings as souvenirs (they are sold by really cute kids….), but there is so much more to this place.  The llamas are cute though, especially the baby ones with hats.  

Llama hoody – not cold at all!

I have to admit I knew pitifully little about Peru before we came.  There’s Paddington of course, they eat guinea pig, and it must be deep and dark because there are bits that are deepest and darkest.  All I knew about the Incas was that they worshipped the sun and the Spanish nicked all their gold.  So in preparation, Tim and I read a couple of books, Turn Right at Manchu Pichu and The Last Days of the Incas.  You know how much I love the Spanish, but god those guys were bastards.  The Incas weren’t exactly as cute as a baby llama either.  Sacrificing children because the weather’s not holding up or having all your servants slaughtered when you die to look after you in the next world, doesn’t give them mother Teresa status.  They were an amazing race.  The architecture and engineering is mind boggling considering the limitations of the age.  And not just technically brilliant, but beautiful to look at as well.  

Anyway, new city new guide, Willington.  First he took us even higher out of Cusco.  Getting our breath was still a struggle but much easier now.  First stop was Saqsaywaman, a fortress and ceremonial ground overlooking Cusco lying in the bowl of the mountains, the umbiglo, or belly button.   

Then to Pukapukara and Tambomachay.

We then headed back into town where Willington gave us a walking tour of the historic centre. It has been really worth having a guide.  He knows everything about everything it seems, and a very pleasant person to spend time with.   

When the Spanish did their conquering they demolished all the Inca sacred sites, took the gold and silver, then built their own churches on the Inca foundations, using the precious metals to create some of the most ornate and over the top altar pieces you will ever see.  It’s stunning but leaves a bit of a sour taste.   As karma would have it, a huge earthquake hit in 1950, demolishing the colonial buildings, but leaving the Inca foundations, built for strength, intact.   

As we reached the square there was a cacophony of music and chatter of people.   A procession of children and young people was in progress, all dancing in the most colourful and sparkling outfits you can imagine.   Willington had no idea what it was for.  Apparently they are always doing parades at the drop of a stovepipe hat, with the month of June being non-stop partying to celebrate the foundation of Cusco.   Peruvians love to dress up and party, that much is clear and they dont do it subtly.   

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It’s a 35 minute flight from Puerto Maldonda to Cusco which is at 11,000 feet.  Basically you’re flying uphill.  Within 5 minutes of disembarking I was struggling to breath.  They were handing out coca leaves to chew at the baggage carousel.  Thanks, but an oxygen tank would be more useful and definitely less leaf like.   We were prepared and had drunk our body weight in bottled water but the dehydration took hold within minutes.  Tim was fine though.  What we weren’t prepared for was the cold.  After the blazing heat of Cuba and humidity of the Amazon it came as a shock.  It’s hot in the afternoon but goes to 4 degrees in the evening and morning.   It explained why the hotel has a fire pit and sells puffa jackets rather than bathrobes.  

 

After a rest at our hotel we headed to The Plaza de Armas for dinner.  A beautiful colonial square with the cathedral dominating the view.  The old town is in the bowl of the valley and the mountain surrounds it.  In the dark with the pinpoint lights of the houses scattering the slopes like fat Christmas trees looking down on you.  

We were careful to eat light, not much alcohol, lots of water, walk slowly etc, but by the time we got back Tim was suffering with altitude sickness, puffing and panting, bad tempered and at times disorientated.  I was a bit worried, but with the now novel ability to use the internet I googled the symptoms and was reassured that as he wasn’t yet gurgling in his chest or frothing at the mouth with pink bubbles, he’d survive.  Our nice Australian friends had given us some medication for altitude sickness and he took that and was thankfully alive in the morning.  I woke with a headache that would have felled 15 llamas but nothing that a good dose of neurofen couldn’t deal with.   Thank goodness, as we had the whole history of the Incas to deal with that morning.  Onwards and upwards. Literally.  

I wasn’t looking forward to this bit of the trip.  I’d envisaged sweaty jungle treks for hours, huge bugs in our room and was a bit daunted by the idea of limited electricity and no phone for 3 days.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  

We were taken by boat to the lodge about 40 minutes down the river from Puerto Maldonda.  The electricity was off when we arrived but we were still served lunch and shown our cabin which was beautiful.  A wooden structure on stilts with mosquito mesh for windows. I’d been really unwell that day so gratefully collapsed into a hammock on th porch and just relaxed listening to the sounds of the jungle behind us.  In the evening we went for a moonlit boat ride and saw various birds, caiman and an ocelot.  

Tim went on a fishing trip the next day but I opted out as I still felt unwell so thought a couple hours at the spa might be a good alternative.  Tim was well pleased with his adventure.  He caught loads of piranha, which they then cooked and ate for lunch.  He opted out of swimming in the lake though.  Apparently piranha are no more appealing swimming companions than sharks.  On their boat journey they saw many animals, including a sloth (no comparisons to me please….) and a jaguar which is very rare.  Even the guide hadn’t seen one in 3 years.  

That night before dinner we took a spider trail.  There are quite a few tarantula type spiders to be found when you’re shown where to look.  The pink-toed spider, so called because it has pink toes.   Genius.  Then the chicken spider.  And guess why it’s called that?   The one we found would have only managed a chick but apparently they can be the size of a plate.  A plate of chicken perhaps….We also saw legions of leaf cutter ants which were more fascinating than you’d imagine, particularly when one ran up Tim’s trouser leg, followed by all his pals.  That was pretty hilarious watching Tim jump about in the dark and mud trying to get ants out of his pants.  

 

We met some very nice Australians and spent a lot of the rest of the trip together.  Food was fantastic and the candlelit dining room very atmospheric.  

We went to a lake the next day and saw giant otters and monkeys amongst other things.  

We also saw Mosquitos.  I was really hoping with long clothing and 3 layers of deet and citronella, that I could escape them but the little buggers sneak in somehow.  Luckily the bedroom was pretty clear because of the netting 

The other thing is the damp.  It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but for some reason it did, it really rains a lot in the rain forest.  Even when it’s not raining it’s humid as hell.  Your clothes are damp, your books curl up like a toilet roll that’s been dropped down the loo and dried out.  You know that episode of friends where they go to Barbados and Monica’s hair goes nuts?  That was me.  I didn’t even think about makeup.  It would have slid of my face in a Dali-esque manner within seconds.  The good thing is that you can hang up your clothes and they iron themselves and no one ever has to water the petunias.  

The peace is wonderful there although it’s not quiet.  The animals take their turn to make a racket.  Tree frogs and crickets and birds at night, the parakeets in the day, but they are kind enough to quieten down in the morning to let you sleep.  Apart from one pesky Aguti who decided the best time to eat his nuts was at 6am under our cabin.  

I’ve written this from Cusco – more on that later.   

We loved the rainforest and will be back, maybe to the Brazilian side next time.  

We bid a sad farewell to this beautiful Island and our lovely guide Ariel at Jose Marti airport.  Pretty much everything in Cuba seems to be named after Jose. 

We’ve met some lovely people.  They are attractive, lively, kind and fun to be with, but there is rarely a conversation that doesn’t turn to politics and the frustration of their lives.   Most people work for the state wage which is about 15-20 pesos a month (£12-16).  They get paid in the local currency which is worth about a quarter of the “convertible” peso which has been devised to halt the wide spread use of the US dollar.  Everyone gets a ration of food which is affordable and can be bought with local currency.  It amounts to a big bag of rice, another of beans, one leg of chicken, sugar,oil, coffee and a bar of soap. That’s for a month!  Anything extra is expensive and has to be bought in convertible and they are given a bad exchange rate, so everyone is working overtime trying to get extra convertibles so that they can buy food and clothes.  But they can’t earn convertibles and it all has to be done backhanded.  It’s very confusing.  The state bans any kind of free lance work or selling goods on the open market.  The healthcare and education is good but who wants to train as a doctor and still not earn enough to feed and clothe your family?  Everyone wants to get out, mostly to the US, but it’s nigh impossible to get a visa and even if they could the ticket alone would cost several years salary.   

The rations shop.

Street vendors sell produce, often illegally, but it keeps the food supply going.  
What you have is a nation of people who aren’t starving, but are hungry, not just for food, but for opportunity and more freedom.  And with Castro gone and his aged little brother now commanding but without such a strength of support, it’s a powder keg.  
On a positive note we spent a lovely afternoon with Juana and Rodrigo, 2 friends from childhood who did the tourist pickup thing and somehow we ended up buying them lunch in a bar that everyone swears Mick Jagger and Madonna went to and where they filmed Fast and Furious 217.  Apparently.  Both single parents (divorce rates are high and birth rates are low due to the expense of having children) she is a trainee teacher and he is a social worker.  Anyway, the rum flowed and the rice and beans and goat was delicious, and they told us more about Cuba than you could get from any guide book.  Like everyone they are working hard and getting little back, and their frustration verged on anger at times, but when they talked about so many people trying to leave they were adamant.  “No, never.  It’s hard here, but mi alma, my soul is in Cuba.  The reason we look happy is because we are happy people despite everything.  We struggle but we dance and drink and enjoy life on this beautiful island”.   Ok, that wasn’t their exact words, I was on the rum too and I’m translating, but that was the gist.   On a superficial note, we assumed they were in their 20s.  You could have knocked me over with a palm leaf when they told us they were both 48.  I’m envisioning a whole new diet fad.  We embrace the glorious revolution whilst losing weight and staying young.   3 portions of rice and beans a day with as much tropical fruit as you can eat and no need to go to the gym as you walk everywhere because you can’t buy a car.   The GR plan.  

A 6 hour drive to get here from Trinidad.  It didn’t seem worth it for one night, despite the odd diversion on the journey such as the young guys racing their pony and traps 3 abreast on the highway, and various people selling all sorts from mangoes to a dead turkey.  Then we arrived and were greeted by this view.

The photos doesn’t do it justice – just stunning.  The hotel was basic.  Someone clearly decorated just before the revolution and forgot to come back, but it didn’t matter.  

We hung out by the pool for a bit then had dinner nearby watching the sun set over the mountains.  Then when it got dark watched the stars ping one by one amongst the bats and fireflies.   Magical.  

You can’t fault the Gibson Brothers for getting the message across that Cuba is all about the salsa and they weren’t wrong.  The music is everywhere, blaring out of houses in the evening, in every bar and restaurant, and guys walking down the street with little speakers.  But we didn’t get to see much dancing.  Most of the restaurants we went to had a live band and the quality was amazing but no one dances because they are all full of tourists who are too inhibited.  So I did my jiggling table dancing while Tim looked embarrassed.

Then in Trinidad we stumbled into a bar and I was in heaven.  A crowded and sweaty mix of Cubans and tourists with great music and a buzzing dance floor.  There were about 5 Cuban guys leading a line dance kind of thing doing salsa and cha cha cha with a gang of European and American women dancing along while their bored-looking husbands sat clutching their drinks and looking on.  A solo singer came on and we all sat and listened.  When he sang “Che Guevara” the Cubans all sang along and some looked like they may cry.  A revolutionary love song.  We got chatting to a couple of locals and when they realised that Tim wasn’t up for dancing, one of them took me to the dance floor when the music livened up again.  The Cubans just have dance in their veins and it was brilliant dancing the salsa with someone who was such a natural.  I was walking on air.  After a couple of songs we went home as Tim was losing the will by that point but I’ve ticked one off the list.  Proper salsa in Cuba.

I wanted to go back the next night, but made a compromise and booked tickets for the Buena Vista Social Club show instead. They were great.  Very accomplished and a wide range of talent but because it was all tourists again and only about 30 of us in a huge club, the atmosphere was subdued.  In the end they got us all on stage dancing, even Tim, but it did feel more like a Latin Butilns show than anything.  Worth seeing though.  

Lovely hotel.  An old colonial building overlooking a square.  The internet is tricky.  Our hotel is about the only place that has it and even then you can only use it in the bar for short periods.  Baptism of fire for Tim and his email addiction and me and my constant perusing of crap on social media.  Because of the internet zone, the square is always busy with people connecting with the internet and consequently each other.  The internet is a social thing here because you have to do it in a crowd.  I even spotted a police officer parked outside last night looking at Facebook.  

Yesterday we went up out of Trinidad in a 4×4 taxi to the Sierra del Escambray to do the Guanayara tour which involved a vey bumpy drive up and down the mountain roads and a 5km trek through the forest with a guide who gave us the lowdown on all the plants and birds.  We then ended up swimming at a beautiful pool with a waterfall.  It was a bit crowded and trying to get dressed in the company of 50 other tourists is a little daunting but we managed to save our modesty for what it’s worth.  We climbed higher and were driven to a weird “ranch” in the middle of a sanitarium complex where we had a utilitarian lunch in one of the state owned restaurants.  Cuban food is nothing to write home about but it’s good.  If you like rice and beans you’re onto a winner.

Today, for some reason we had been booked onto a similar tour but this time to El Nicho, further up and in an old Russian army jeep that was born long before the concept of seat belts or suspension had been imagined.  5 hours round trip being chucked around, dodging chickens and stray cows, for a 1km trek and another waterfall swim.  It was stunning and this time we were alone so it was almost worth the bone shaking journey.  

Most of the road is forest, coffee and bananas.  Not much to see except greenery but the villages are fascinating, as if you’ve stepped back in time.  Very handsome young cowboys on horses, kids riding carts pulled by oxen, livestock roaming freely on the road, the farms hands who wave when you pass and the omnipresent slogans painted on the side of houses praising the glorious virtues of Che and Fidel.  

Spent most of the day in the car with Ariel travelling from Havana to Trinidad.  The highway goes straight through the centre of the island and being a communist country it’s in good condition.  It was countryside pretty much all the way, miles and miles of lush green farmland growing sugar rice and oranges.  The farms are all state owned and there’s no money for machinery so there are many farmhands working the fields in scorching temperatures, using oxen to plough and transport produce and scything the land.  As you get further into the countryside there are fewer cars, the village houses are roughly constructed shacks and the main transport seems to be horse and trap.  

We stopped at Santa Clara to see the memorial to Che Guevara.  They really do love him here and his image is omnipresent.  Just as well he was so handsome.  Fidel was the main man though.  He might not have such pretty branding for t-shirts and fridge magnets but the word is that he held huge respect and although his brother is not exactly unpopular he doesn’t have the same influence.  You can’t talk to anyone here without the politics of the situation coming up.  Things are changing and they’re on edge.    I’ll write more about that later when we’re in a country with proper wifi.  It’s so complicated!

Tim and Ariel talking. politics.

Me and Che.  Viva la revolucion!

Near Trinidad is the Iznaga tower, owned by a sugar plantation owner who was so rich that built it so that he could climb to the top and watch his 15,000 slaves working his land.  Shame he never fell over the edge.  

In Trinidad now.  A much smaller and more touristy version of Old Havana.  Off to explore now.

Amongst the many annoying habits that I have on holiday is that I talk to complete strangers.  Of course, they usually want money.  In Havana you are approached constantly, usually to take a taxi or buy cigars.  Everyone has a deal.  These Jineteros hassle you but are very friendly so why not chat and it’s how they get by so what’s the problem in giving them a few pesos?

Yesterday we walked down the Paseo del Prado, an old Spanish promenade that isn’t really functional as half the trees are missing, then along the seafront along the Malecon until we got to the Hotel Nacional where we had a drink and contemplated it’s mafia past and channelled the spirits of Frank and Ava.

On the way we met

And these guys who asked if we were from Liverpool.  We said no, but they played the Beatles anyway.  I got them to play Besa Me, a song that you hear everywhere here, while I pretended to shake my maracas.  Tim quite understandably kept his distance. He didn’t want to shake his maracas so early in the morning.

The Nacional

There’s lots more to write about yesterday but we are off now to Trinidad.  Wifi is bad here.  Only 5% of Cuba has it and in theory it’s free in the hotel but it’s difficult to sign in and it cuts out all the time.

More later, but in the meantime, Hasta Luego Habana