Hitchhiking pictures!

 

the first truck we climbed on

 

standing at the front of the back of the truck, feeling like the kings of the world

the bottom of the truck--why we couldn't sit down (it was covered in papaya)

 

a little cafeteria in santa clara - city of che

cienfuegos, prettiest, cleanest, least broken down city in cuba

top of a beautiful abandoned mansion with a gorgeous view of the city in cienfuegos. i climbed that tower!

sunset at cienfuegos

 

 

 

 

 

Making Bottle

That’s what they call hitchhiking in this country. I guess it makes a little more sense in Spanish—hacer botella—well, grammatically at least.

 

I think the term originates from back when people used to have bottles in their cars for hitchhikers to put tips in. Haciendo or cogiendo botella in Cuba is a legitimate, government sponsored mode of transportation, because there is generally a shortage of transportation in this country, and extra space not being used in cars seems like a good thing to take advantage of. Although many people just stand on the side of the road holding out their hands or some small bills (usually no more than $1), outside of every major city there is an “amarillo” stand, where guys in yellow outfits run out into the middle of the highway and hold out cardboard signs that say PARE (stop), and shuffle people into cars/trucks/buses based on destination. I say it is government sponsored because government owned vehicles are required by law to stop and take travelers free of charge if they have the space (this does not always happen, bribes happen for line cutting and things like that).

 

Anyways, the reason I’m saying all this stuff about traveling in bottle is that I did it this weekend with two friends, we hitchhiked Cuban style all the way from Havana to the beautiful cities of Santa Clara and Cienfuegos in the center of the island and back—about 600 kilometers total, all for less than $2 each (it could have been less, too, but we were generous).

 

This is what happened:

 

Asked people how to get to an Amarillo stop in Havana. Got there, bumbled around a little stupidly (our first time!). Waited in the hot hot sun, I thought about how I should have packed my spf65 sunscreen instead of the 15.

 

Finally, after an hour or two of tired, impatient waiting (we’d been trying to get out of Havana for about 4 hours now) we hopped onto a bus that was going in the general direction we wanted to go. We got dropped off under a bridge about half an hour later, still closer to Havana than anything else. Waited. The good thing, though, was that there were a lot of Cubans with us in the same position, and though they weren’t ecstatic about all the cars driving past without stopping they didn’t seem too perturbed or antsy about the situation. I start to climb up the bridge to pass the time, and then lo and behold, just as I climb down, a truck stops, and the Cuban friend we made while waiting is waving frantically at us to get on. I climb on, or rather, I step on the wheel and then some men who are already up pull me over the side of the truck (it was pretty tall, and there were no foot holds), and then watch as my friend who is halfway up gets thrown off as the truck starts to drive away. Luckily, everyone starts to scream “Espérate!” so the truck stops again and then he gets on.

 

Our first camioneta! This is an open backed truck, you know, the old kind that normally carries boxes of things to sell. Ours had apparently been transporting large amounts of papaya before the humans got on, because the floor was covered in slippery black seeds and red pulp. Anyways, even though we couldn’t sit, my friend had almost died, I was getting severely sun/wind burned, and the truck looked like it was one pothole away from falling into pieces (not to mention a few oxygen particles away from crumbling), we felt like the kings of the world, because there we were, cruising down the national highway with all these Cubans on this tall truck, the wind blowing our hair in this majestic way, definitively leaving Havana for real, finally. I had seen something like this in “Guantanamera,” a Cuban movie, and thought it was pretty novel, and now there I was, doing it myself. I felt pretty cool.

 

Got dropped off at Jaguey, had dinner. In Jaguey there were tons of Chinese people (from China, a pretty rare sight in Cuba based on all the stares I get in the streets) for some reason (we walked into a restaurant and literally everyone inside was Chinese, and I burst out laughing then scuttled away) and I awkwardly avoided them. For some reason, my gutsiness turns off whenever I’m faced with large groups of Asians. I need to work on that.

 

Went to the side of the highway to try to get to Cienfuegos. By that time, it was dark, and we were a little worried. Luckily, however, everyone was stopping (this didn’t happen the other time) which was a good sign, even though no one wanted to go to Cienfuegos. Finally, we hopped onto a truck going to Santa Clara, which is a big city close to Cienfuegos that we considered going to, but didn’t seem as cool.

 

The second camioneta ride was one of the best parts of the entire trip. It was pitch black by the time we got on, and the Cuban national highway doesn’t have lights on it, so it was really really black. I used my backpack as a pillow and leaned back (no papaya gunk this time, just a lot of dirt). The sky was beautiful, llenísima de estrellas, with a little bright sliver of moon. I had never seen so many stars in my life. There were also some navy officers on the truck, and their outfits were billowing romantically in the wind.

 

Santa Clara: saw the Che museum and mausoleum. Rode in our first peso-horse carriage, and thought it was novel, but the next day we took two more. Like other things that seem novel, it was just one of those things about transportation that are pretty normal in Cuba.

 

Went to Cienfuegos. Indulged in having money and dished out $5 each for a taxi over there, but it was worth it, I think, because we got there in probably 1/5 of the time it would have taken. Also, in the United States, sometimes I dish out $5 for Boloco burritos.

 

Cienfuegos: extremely clean and orderly and pretty and nice. Felt not like Cuba, but somewhere else in Latin America, except for things were extraordinarily cheap. We got an illegal casa particular for $20 for the three of us, which was a great deal, especially because usually they make 3 people get two rooms. We did have to sleep 3 on a bed, however, which was not so nice. Luckily, went to a club that night and didn’t sleep too much. The club felt extremely un-Cuban as well, filled with people who looked like they had money, and no one was trying to hustle us. The best part of Cienfuegos was when we climbed up to this mirador which was a beautiful old crumbling mansion with a really tall tower and you could see the entire city and bay and it was so beautiful it felt like the entire trip was worth it just for being able to run around up there. Also there was a time when we climbed to the roof of our casa at night and sat up there talking, which was nice too.

 

Bottled our way back. Same old camioneta and Amarillo shit, even stopped in Jaguey for lunch again (ate at the same place, it was the only one with food), saw and avoided some Asians, got back to Havana, tanned, dirty, bruised, but alive and happy, and feeling pretty happy about ourselves.