Cruising the
Sierra Maestre
Day 1
Holguin: Sleeping, Eating and Getting Robbed
Miles 0
I wake up about 11 a.m. and
wander out to a sunny second-floor patio. Carlita, my hostess, serves up a
whopping breakfast of eggs, plaintains, mangos, bananas, salad, orange
juice, bread and butter and cafe con leche. Her 7-year-old daughter (no
sign of Dad) brings out a series of toys to show me. She chatters away,
cheerful and coquettish. I can swear she's flirting with me. Oh well.
Maybe when she's 21 and I'm 62.
Carlita's mother comes by and
offers to wash my clothes, and her father sits with me as I assemble my
bike on the patio. My junky 30-year-old bike fascinates him. In the coming
days I find that this isn't unusual. Any flat tire or roadside adjustment
attracts a crowd of men and boys to gawk at the derailleur and brakes and
take over all mechanical tasks. But more on that later.
Carlita's place has a great vibe. The drive to Montreal, the midnight
plane trip, the hours at immigration, the search for a place to stay at 4
a.m. - all of it washes away. I'm completely trusting, and I leave my
Spanish book, map and the pouch with my cash and passport on the patio
while I shuttle around the apartment packing, adjusting the bike and
getting ready. As I discover later, this isn't a smart move.
After wandering around Holguin for a few hours, I say goodnight to Carlita and her daughter, turn in early and fall asleep instantly. Next thing I know, the roosters are crowing and it's time to head out across the island.
After passing a hundred or so wall slogans in my first three hours in Cuba, the novelty wore off. But these are nicer than most.
