Part V
I felt like I had slipped back in time from the minute I entered the main hub of the Varadero airport. It happened again when our taxi pulled into Trinidad.
The worn down street that brought us into Trinidad’s downtown core was lined with casas painted in pastel shades of turquoise blue and canary yellow; every other one promoting a place for tourists to stay.
“Mi casa es su casa.” – it really should be Trinidad’s motto. The couple sharing a table next to us during our first meal had arrived without planned accommodation and quickly found home sweet home with a friend-of-a-friend of their waitress just minutes after sitting down, before they even had a chance to order lunch.
The sun was hot and I stepped carefully along collapsing, uneven streets, fearing this might be the moment where I roll my ankle on the trip. Some locals stood in crowds along the streets – mostly men, and many of them eager to help us find a taxi. There were some who sat atop their doorstep, quietly observing the people passing by while children played nicely in the middle of the street… and others who sat on ancient chairs that were gathered around a rickety old table while playing some sort of recreational game. Boutique shops full of books, postcards, locally crafted gifts and souvenirs were were hidden behind open doorways, blocked by thick concrete walls. Giant square holes with sills that sat about 4 feet off the ground served as store fronts, lined with beverage and snack samples. In the background, you could hear scooters and tricycle bells making their way through narrow streets, dodging bunches of tourists.
The streets were lively, but there was nothing chaotic about the scenery. No one was in a hurry to get anywhere and there was a sense of calm among everyone who was hanging about. After spending 5 days gallivanting through the wild and wonderful streets of Havana, Trinidad was a nice change of pace. But my favourite memories weren’t made on the city streets.
Although I could walk from my bedroom to a balcony and enjoy a picturesque view of mountains, I had one small complaint about where we were staying: we were at least 12km from the closest beach. At one point, this this meant I was given the run-around from a local — trying to convince me he’d give me a ride, and then driving me farther away from the beach then where I started from. (Trinidad is apparently notorious for shady characters like this, who pose as AirBnB hosts and taxi drivers in order to scam tourists) But eventually, my toes touched the soft, white sand of Ancon beach… and I was officially in paradise.
Because you can’t beat palm trees and the ocean, a tropical sunset, and a blonde-haired, blue eyed babe in a bathing suit…
Am I right?