Tag: Santiago de Cuba

Happy New Year! When these lines appear, the train is leaving for Havana. Like last year, we cannot take part in a big New Year's party, but are on the way.

The situation with the Internet has not yet changed, but there is always a solution to a problem in Cuba. That's why I can write a few more lines today, I've found a real computer that is connected to the Internet. You ask your way through, you help yourself. The people here are great and helpful.

We visited El Cobre with Eddi in his little yellow taxi. The traffic in Cuba is fascinating. On the one hand, Eddi curves us around potholes where you could park an elephant, on the other hand everything is friendly, you help each other around the potholes. The landscape is a dream. Everything is green, no comparison to the desert in Aruba. The view to the left and right of the road is a view of the jungle. In addition to the fully occupied buses and a few taxis, there are many horse-drawn carriages and donkey carts on the street.

The animal-drawn vehicles have their advantages, they simply fill up with the grass that grows on the roadside. There are long lines in front of the petrol stations for the cars. Trucks waited half a kilometer for their diesel at a gas station. That is Cuba too. There isn't much and for what there is you have to stand in line and wait for hours.

El Cobre, unfortunately I can't link it, is probably the holiest of all churches in Cuba. Several kilometers beforehand, vendors on the roadside are offering sunflower wreaths and candles that can be set up in the church. The closer we get to the church, the more stalls there are. Eddi stops at a point where we have a great view of the scenery.

Right at the church we first have to exchange fists to greet Eddi's friend, the new Covid greeting instead of a handshake. We still leave the religious knick-knacks on the shelf, no matter how nice the seller is. Instead, we turn our steps to the cathedral, where both Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict (Papa Ratzi) have already read mass. It is impressive. Unfortunately, I still can't offer any photos. The fact that we can use the computer with internet access is a sensation. That's Cuba. With their internet connection, people only have 40 hours of internet a month, but they share that without compensation.

After we have left the church, Eddi drives us back. We drive through the alleys of Santiago to find the fruit of Zapote somewhere. We recently got two of them that taste great. They only exist in the Caribbean and only on islands with high mountains, such as Cuba or Jamaica or something. According to hearsay, they are not exported to Europe, are sweet, have a peculiar texture and taste that Jens and I have never known before. Great. Unfortunately we can't find the delicious fruits. Eddi promises us that if he finds any, he will get us some. It doesn't seem that easy.

We will continue to book him as our “personal” taxi driver, he never disappointed us. Photo stops, shopping, and the broken English clues about the sights make it what it is. Plus his taxi works, that's not the rule here.

It may be that there will be radio silence again in the next few days, I have no idea how things are with the Internet and the access options in Havana. We don't want to carry too much luggage with us, the computers stay in Santiago.

In the morning we order a taxi from Norbert, the harbor master. He should get us a taxi with which we can visit the Gran Piedra. Eddi arrives at the marina almost on time in his taxi. Norbert hands us over to the taxi driver, who speaks a few words in English, a few words in French, a few words in German and also in Russian. It is enough for the conversation. On the road we pass many monuments. It feels like there are at least one or two monuments to every Cuban revolutionary.

The selfie is created during a short photo stop. The small, yellow car holds up bravely on the steep road towards the summit. On the way we see the other Germans in their taxi, which is parked on the side of the road with the hood open and which probably lacks cooling water. I ask Eddi for a stopover, but he refuses. The road has an easy slope of over 20%, somehow I can understand that he wants to keep his car going.

But we only have to wait a quarter of an hour, then we are all together at the foot of the stairs that lead the last few meters to the summit. Allegedly there are 400 steps, I didn't count it, my bruised knee confirms the size. Every single step is worth it.

On the way the landscape changes, suddenly we are walking through vegetation that could also exist in Germany in the forest. Ferns and deciduous trees shape the landscape.

One tree stands out in particular, here the bees are humming and humming wildly. I'm trying to capture that with the camera. Unfortunately the sound is a bit quiet.

Gran Piedra means "the big rock" and it is. When we climb the last flight of stairs, we are already a little chipped.

My knee is looking forward to the descent. In the meantime we are shooting wildly with the camera. Unfortunately we can only guess the sea on the horizon, it is too hazy.

But the view of the hinterland is breathtaking. Shame it is so difficult to get there. There are no designated hiking trails and no infrastructure for hikers. One would have to walk down the streets.

A vulture circled above us for a few minutes in search of its lunch. Jens manages a wonderful shot at the bird.

Of course we'll take another stupid selfie. Our family in Germany will be happy about that. What is the weather like in Germany? Up here we can't complain at all, the temperatures are very pleasant at high altitudes.

We're hungry when we're back down with the vehicles. That's why we ask our drivers to drive us to a restaurant. First, there is a discussion among the drivers about which of the restaurants to go to. Driving downhill, I ask Eddi to stop for a photo at the next donkey. This stop takes place at the point where the taxi of the other German group refilled cooling water on the way there. Here drinking water is filled into canisters at the source, the donkey patiently waits for its load.

The restaurant preferred by Eddi is closed today, we are waiting in front of the door. Eddi makes everything clear for us, a few minutes later we can sit down at the table. It is worth opening the restaurant for a group of seven people. While waiting, I can record this street scene.

The further you get from Santiago, the greater the density of horse and donkey carts. There are also a lot of pedestrians on the streets. The size of the potholes that Eddi has to avoid also increases with the distance from Santiago. While we are sitting in the restaurant, the drivers wait outside by their vehicles.

There is fish in the restaurant. It was available in all private restaurants that we have tried in Cuba so far. Of course, you can pull the fish out of the sea for little money. There are only a few cattle that are needed for milk production. Our German companion, whose funny name is also Eddi, explains the draconian punishments for the locals in Cuba. If a farmer slaughters his own cattle (public property), he is jailed for 25 years.

While we wait for the meal, our salad is freshly harvested in our own garden. We think that's great, but the Cubans might prefer to go shopping in the supermarket rather than cultivating them themselves. Maybe not, that's just speculation on my part.

After dinner it is dark. Eddi drives us carefully through the darkness, driving around donkey carts, bicycles and pedestrians, all of which are unlit on the street, without neglecting the dance around the potholes. I'll get his phone number, we'll go on the next trip with him again.

Today we visit Cayo Granma. Granma was the name of the boat Fidel Castro was traveling in. Today an island is named after the boat. Mostly fishermen live on the island, we can watch their boats every day from the marina when they start fishing at dusk.

While we wait for the ferry, a resident explains to us that this house was beautiful until a few years ago, when Hurricane Sandy swept the island. Not only was this house destroyed, many of the broken houses in Santiago de Cuba were also dismantled by the hurricane.

From the ferry we have a wonderful view of the island, which is idyllically located in the sun. After several stops we arrive and take a short walk around the island. It's not far, it's less than two kilometers all around.

On the way we see children who carry a chicken under their arm like a football is carried in our country. The chicken doesn't seem to mind, at some point the children let it go on the floor.

A couple of children are sitting on the jetty next to a fishing boat. Even in winter, the water temperature is perfect for swimming. We climb to the highest point of the island, there is of course the local church. Unfortunately it is locked.

When we went back down, we saw children playing by the water. I am sure that the parents here do not have to be afraid that the children will drown them in the water. All children can swim here. The remains of the former concrete pier are perfect diving platforms for the older children.

This island is actually a paradise for the little ones. There is no danger from cars here, a few motorbikes are occasionally brought to the mainland by ferry and back again in the evening. Nobody would leave something as valuable as a motorcycle on land overnight. This MZ ETZ 250 from GDR production costs around 12,000 CUC or 290,000 local pesos on the street, which is only 48 annual salaries with a usual monthly salary of around 500 pesos.

We stop in a small private restaurant and get fresh fish with rice, fried bananas and salad for little money. Everything tastes great, Jens even tastes the fried bananas. I have to mention that, because otherwise Jens is a banana hater. The green stuff in Cuba, whether tomatoes, cucumbers or peppers, is of the very best quality. The difference to industrial production in Germany is clearly noticeable on the palate. We have a lot, but it's not always good. The Cubans can hardly believe what we tell them about our food. The little eggs from the little chickens that can be found all over the street are also delicious.

In the restaurant we meet two Germans, one of whom lives as a pensioner in Cuba. We learn a lot about the local problems, customs and traditions, and we are filled with rum. We arrange to meet for the following day to visit Gran Piedra, one of the highest mountains in Cuba. We're supposed to get a taxi, but a new one with a good engine, because the path is steep and not every taxi driver would go up there.

During the nightly voyage to Cuba we sailed the whole time to the El Morro lighthouse. Right next to it is the Castillo de San Pedro de la Roca, also called Castillo del Morro. When we enter the bay, we have a beautiful view of it in the morning sun.

During our little tour by car we could easily visit the fort. This is impossible with public transport. First we pass the lighthouse on the land side.

The Cuban army still has barracks here, we see a lot of soldiers. In Cuba it is mandatory for men to serve in the army for two years. The women can do it voluntarily.

On the land side, the way to the fort is rather unspectacular. We can get there easily. It's even easy for Jens with his foot problem.

After crossing the moat, we first have to pay 4 CUC entry. Our local guides pay 4 CUP. One CUC is about 25 CUP, so we as tourists pay 25 times the entrance fee. Thats OK for me.

Room by room, floor by floor, we work our way through the system. Always nice and slow, Jens is out and about with a crutch borrowed from the harbor master Jorge.

Here we see the warehouse for the cannonballs and the ramp through which they were transported to the cannons. These things are pretty heavy. Back then, people had to work hard. L

From above there are always great views of the sea and the entrance to the bay. Attackers from the sea could be kept under fire here. Today we're firing from all lenses.

The view from the very top is phenomenal. We can take a look at Sissi from a completely new perspective. While walking through the castle we suddenly hear bits of German words. Two vacationers are out and about here and enjoy a Spanish tour they don't understand a word about. But you are happy to have escaped the situation in Germany for a few weeks.

If you click on the picture, you will get an enlargement without the green arrow. The view of Cayo Granma, a fishing island on the other side of the bay, is also beautiful. Our guides tell us that there are a few good private restaurants on Cayo Granma. That means that we already have a new destination.

The sound of a bell sounds, Jens couldn't help it. But he doesn't want to buy a round, it would be canceled anyway, because there is no bar in the fort. A recommended excursion destination, UNESCO World Heritage Site and Cuban national monument. Great.

Yesterday we had a local guide who organized a car with a driver for us. So we were able to see some sights that we cannot easily reach on foot. We visited the castle above the entrance to our bay and then in Santiago the cemetery where the grave of Fidel Castro is located. I will write about the fort soon, today I will write about the grave.

On a flagpole in front of the cemetery is the largest flag I have ever seen in my life. One could wrap Sissi in it completely. Next to the mast there is a small house where the guards do their duty. A changing of the guard takes place every thirty minutes.

At first we believe that Fidel's grave is in the monument in front of which the soldiers are parading. A security service ensures that the guards are not bothered by the tourists when they stand at attention and march at goose-step.

In the monument there is a statue of José Martí, probably the most important Cuban writer, poet and national hero. The coffin, covered with a flag, contains the ashes of one of Fidel Castro's campaigners against Batista during the revolution.

In the evening I learn from the harbor master that Fidel's grave is not in this monument at all. His ashes are in a hole in this stone behind the sign with his name. He just wanted a very simple grave.

One of the fighters in the memorial is referred to as the father of all Cubans, then another fighter is buried there, who is referred to as the mother of all Cubans. If only I had a better memory for names. With a little internet you can find out, for me it's too expensive at the moment.

Next door is the memorial for the other revolutionaries. A place steeped in history to which we have been taken.

I was able to shoot a little video of the changing of the guard. Unfortunately, this is a bit shaky because I didn't have a tripod on hand. Should I have the opportunity again, I will take a tripod and, if possible, come back in better light, i.e. in the morning. But I think it gives the impression quite well.

This post is brimming with images that don't match the text. In the next few days there will be more pictures. So many colors, so many impressions.

The alarm clock rings at 5:20 a.m. I get up quietly so that Jens is not woken up. Unfortunately, he cannot accompany me today because he has stretched his foot and has to take care of it. After a few minutes I'm sitting with my morning coffee and trying to empty the pot within an hour. I do this while watching the sunrise.

The ferry is punctual to the minute and takes me to downtown Santiago de Cuba in a good half an hour. I have planned a lot there. I want to buy fresh vegetables, maybe I can find a butcher and I'm also looking for a SIM card for the Internet. The first impressions overwhelm me.

The horse-drawn carriages are taxis for the port area, where the mountains are not that steep. In addition to horse-drawn carriages, there are also horse-drawn carts for transport, for example here for building rubble.

Since the shops don't open until 9 a.m., I take a long walk. That is very good for me after the sails and the days of quarantine.

I don't want to give the impression that the streets in Santiago are all driven by ancient cars, but it's no pleasure to photograph a current Renault Berlingo or a Peugeot 405.

On my way to the train station I met a motorcycle gang. Yes, these motorcyclists are all in a group. Every single one of the motorcycles would violate our noise regulations, and the guys honk wildly.

I can't go into the station itself, but I manage to photograph the train in the parking area. Only the locomotive is missing, no idea where it was parked. Finally rails in front of the lens again.

Santiago is built on hills, so I walk up and down a lot. That would have been poison for Jens' foot. On Monday we want to go back to town, then I can do a little tour. The formerly pretty colonial buildings are shabby or very shabby. Nevertheless, the atmosphere is harmonious and I like it very much.

In contrast to many other places, I notice positively that the streets are licked clean. There is no rubbish lying around on the street. By the way, the mask wearing quota is about 100%, in Cuba you have to put on a mask everywhere in public. Until I learned that, the rate was a little lower because it never occurred to me to wear a mask on the street.

Remnants of tram tracks can be found in a wide variety of places. Apparently there was also a tram in Santiago in the period before the revolution. Unfortunately it no longer exists today, otherwise I wouldn't have to crouch my legs.

I find the sales office of ETECSA, the local mobile operator. There is a long line in front of the door. You shout "persona ultima" into the crowd and the person who is currently the end of the queue answers. When the next potential customer comes, the game repeats itself. Opposite the sales office is a park, the queue is not only on the sidewalk, but also on the park benches in the park.

When my turn finally comes after 45 minutes, the clerk wants to sell me Internet vouchers, which we can also buy in the marina. I refuse, I want a SIM card with the correct data volume. She doesn't sell them to me. I don't get it and leave the shop.

I find the fish market and move through the stalls. Almost three and a half hours back to my ferry, I don't want to carry the fish around in the sun that long. Then it is certainly no longer fresh. I make up my mind to come back later.

Various supermarkets shine with empty shelves and long lines in front of the door. The locals look through the shop window to see what is currently on sale. If it's interesting, get in line. I don't see any fresh vegetables so there is no reason for me to queue.

There are very long lines in front of all bakeries, except for those who have run out of bread. We are well positioned in this regard, because we have our own bakery on board and a huge amount of flour that we can bake.

I noticed positively that, as a rich tourist, I am not addressed by the locals. If I speak to someone and ask where to go to the ETESCA, a cigar shop or the supermarket, I get a polite answer and directions. I experienced it very differently on other islands.

Unfortunately the fish market is sold out on my second visit. I've learned that I have to go shopping when something is in the store. I cannot expect the goods to be available two hours later. That's okay, we can survive for weeks with the supplies on board. That's all of the stuff we stashed for the crossing to Australia.

All day I haven't seen a single policeman on the street. A soldier rides on the ferry for this purpose. The ferry makes a little detour and goes directly to the marina, where the soldier disembarks. The captain, the chief disinfector, the machinist and the soldier looked rather stupidly out of the laundry when I wanted to get out too. The marina security man gives permission and I save myself going home.

I have to process so many impressions first. I can't even remember the last time I was in a big city.