The road is nothing more than pebbles, shingle, stones rounded by the pounding sea, all ground into a track. We have to push to get around the foot of the cliff where the sea has been trying to reclaim the road. And then back on tarmac for a few hundred metres. Pass two men on horses, nod hola. At the top of a slope the tarmac cracks up and disappears on the slope down the other side.
A rental car is coming towards us, navigating huge muddy ruts and potholes in the track. The car pulls up. "You must be mad!" "And you too!" comes the reply from the driver. They are a young Russian couple. "It's a bit tricky ahead, but if you get through the next bit, the rest of the road is clear", we tell them. "Uh, until you reach the bridge that is collapsing." The bridge in question is tilting at a precipitous angle. The concrete slabs that make up the road surface are disjointed and split asunder at the joints. We thought crossing it on the bikes looked dangerous until we saw other earlier tracks. The Russians smile and wave goodbye as they crawl uphill on the broken road. We don't see them again so we assume they made it through.
This road is in theory impassable although we did see a bus go past - the kind that you sometimes see here with a truck chassis and the body of the bus stuck on top. Still, we can't imagine much getting around that bit disappearing into the sea. The road leaving Santiago de Cuba gives no indication of the trouble ahead. We have read about this coastal road as being one of the great bike rides in the world along a road no longer maintained and thus hardly used. It's a beautiful, peaceful ride. Eventually we reach the coast again and head west to Chivrico.
Here we find a casa after a bit of searching. We arrive early afternoon just in time before a big rainstorm passes over. So much for the dry side of the island. At sunset we take a short walk around the small town and find the state-run restaurant on the main road still open. What do you have? Chicken and rice. How much is it? 12 - we sit and wonder while we wait for it to come. 12 pesos is about 50 cents. The chicken comes quickly - it's stewed in a nice sauce, the rice plain boiled, no beans. It's hot, it's filling, it's all we need.
The sun is out again in the morning as we set off. Up to the town of Uvero it's a fun ride and we pause for an early morning snack. The road then finally deteriorates to a point where the pot holes are greater in area than the remaining tarmac. After a very bad stretch the perfect tarmac magically resumes. And then randomly disappears again. And so it goes all day.
We ride over headlands and down into tight little coves or wide arcing bays. There are villages beside every river, farms dotting the beautiful landscape. Ahead we can see some of the peaks of the Sierra Maestra where Castro and his few surviving guerillas hid from the army. After we meet the Russians the road seems to relax and stretch out a little flatter and a little straighter and soon we realise we can reach Pilon before sunset. It's been a long day but thoroughly enjoyable.
It rains in the night again and for the second night running there's a power cut. We assume it's load-shedding but our hostess tells us they are making repairs.
The government insists that every casa particuar provide hot water and air-conditioning, for which we are grateful - although we generally prefer a fan. It's all moot when there's no electricity.
We have to keep moving, on to Manzanillo, because our visa is about to expire and we've read you can only extend it in provincial capitals. The nearest is Bayamo. Happily our next host tells us that we can do it in Manzanillo. She and her husband have a three storey house on a hill overlooking the funky, dusty town. We instantly find the careworn streets and buildings charming.
There's a sense of being off the main tourist route here, somewhere where time forgot. Cuba has a few towns like this, that sprung up around a sugar mill, processing the sugar cane grown all around. After the revolution the sugar was mostly exported to Russia, in exchange for food. When the USSR collapsed, so did the sugar trade. It seems Cuba is still weaning itself from this monoculture, judging by the paucity of food on offer in the city market hall, a delapidated grand old building. We check out the handful of stalls and find a couple of farmers with some tasty looking fresh veg. Bingo.
As soon as our hostess suggests getting our visa extended here, we set off to try. It's almost lunchtime when we step into the small immigration office. A policewoman looks at our passports, asks us where we've been. She's very friendly and helpful. We explain we're on bikes. We have a flight to Mexico booked. Fine, first we need to go and pay at the bank. She tells us which bank and suggests we go after 2pm when lunch is over. We go straight to the bank. Gratifyingly, but also embarrassingly, a bank greeter sends me to the first available cashier, ahead of a few locals waiting in chairs. I hand over a form and our money and get given a couple of stamps in return. We return to the immigration police. Our friend is surprised. She then explains that now we must go to another office to get the visa extension. Again, she explains something about the time of day, but all we want to know is where. We get directions and walk over town to the building. It's empty. Or at first look it is. Then we peek into an office and find a woman at a desk behind a big dusty computer. She tells us to wait. We sit in a waiting room full of empty chairs. Clearly this is a busy place at some time of day, but not in the middle of the siesta. Incredibly we are called back soon after and another woman processes our visa extension. The whole process has taken about an hour, including all our walking around. Un milagro, a miracle. We're so happy we stay two more nights.
 |
| there's a couple of abandoned tunnels |
 |
| would you drive over this? |
This road is in theory impassable although we did see a bus go past - the kind that you sometimes see here with a truck chassis and the body of the bus stuck on top. Still, we can't imagine much getting around that bit disappearing into the sea. The road leaving Santiago de Cuba gives no indication of the trouble ahead. We have read about this coastal road as being one of the great bike rides in the world along a road no longer maintained and thus hardly used. It's a beautiful, peaceful ride. Eventually we reach the coast again and head west to Chivrico.
Here we find a casa after a bit of searching. We arrive early afternoon just in time before a big rainstorm passes over. So much for the dry side of the island. At sunset we take a short walk around the small town and find the state-run restaurant on the main road still open. What do you have? Chicken and rice. How much is it? 12 - we sit and wonder while we wait for it to come. 12 pesos is about 50 cents. The chicken comes quickly - it's stewed in a nice sauce, the rice plain boiled, no beans. It's hot, it's filling, it's all we need.
The sun is out again in the morning as we set off. Up to the town of Uvero it's a fun ride and we pause for an early morning snack. The road then finally deteriorates to a point where the pot holes are greater in area than the remaining tarmac. After a very bad stretch the perfect tarmac magically resumes. And then randomly disappears again. And so it goes all day.
We ride over headlands and down into tight little coves or wide arcing bays. There are villages beside every river, farms dotting the beautiful landscape. Ahead we can see some of the peaks of the Sierra Maestra where Castro and his few surviving guerillas hid from the army. After we meet the Russians the road seems to relax and stretch out a little flatter and a little straighter and soon we realise we can reach Pilon before sunset. It's been a long day but thoroughly enjoyable.
It rains in the night again and for the second night running there's a power cut. We assume it's load-shedding but our hostess tells us they are making repairs.
The government insists that every casa particuar provide hot water and air-conditioning, for which we are grateful - although we generally prefer a fan. It's all moot when there's no electricity.
 |
| today we see rice being grown and huge fields of sugarcane being harvested by hand |
We have to keep moving, on to Manzanillo, because our visa is about to expire and we've read you can only extend it in provincial capitals. The nearest is Bayamo. Happily our next host tells us that we can do it in Manzanillo. She and her husband have a three storey house on a hill overlooking the funky, dusty town. We instantly find the careworn streets and buildings charming.
There's a sense of being off the main tourist route here, somewhere where time forgot. Cuba has a few towns like this, that sprung up around a sugar mill, processing the sugar cane grown all around. After the revolution the sugar was mostly exported to Russia, in exchange for food. When the USSR collapsed, so did the sugar trade. It seems Cuba is still weaning itself from this monoculture, judging by the paucity of food on offer in the city market hall, a delapidated grand old building. We check out the handful of stalls and find a couple of farmers with some tasty looking fresh veg. Bingo.
As soon as our hostess suggests getting our visa extended here, we set off to try. It's almost lunchtime when we step into the small immigration office. A policewoman looks at our passports, asks us where we've been. She's very friendly and helpful. We explain we're on bikes. We have a flight to Mexico booked. Fine, first we need to go and pay at the bank. She tells us which bank and suggests we go after 2pm when lunch is over. We go straight to the bank. Gratifyingly, but also embarrassingly, a bank greeter sends me to the first available cashier, ahead of a few locals waiting in chairs. I hand over a form and our money and get given a couple of stamps in return. We return to the immigration police. Our friend is surprised. She then explains that now we must go to another office to get the visa extension. Again, she explains something about the time of day, but all we want to know is where. We get directions and walk over town to the building. It's empty. Or at first look it is. Then we peek into an office and find a woman at a desk behind a big dusty computer. She tells us to wait. We sit in a waiting room full of empty chairs. Clearly this is a busy place at some time of day, but not in the middle of the siesta. Incredibly we are called back soon after and another woman processes our visa extension. The whole process has taken about an hour, including all our walking around. Un milagro, a miracle. We're so happy we stay two more nights.
