Cigars and Coffee

At the airport I exchanged my clean and colourful Euro's for a bundle of raggedy and almost leathery Pesos with images of happy farmers and revolutionary leaders.

The taxi motors along a highway of palm tree's and blue skies. American made sedans in pastel colours with tail-fins share the road with clunkier, plainer Soviet imports. The decay of Havana builds around me as we enter the centre. Exiting the taxi the assault on my senses continues, salsa and jazz echo, a crowd of men throwing dice on the corner cheer among the roars of engines.

The casas particulares I stay in, has a colonial air, high ceilings, heavy doors with tinted glass. A fan high in the ceiling washes the air around.

In the morning breakfast was fresh fruits, eggs, coffee and juice served on a roof-top terrace. From here I could see baroque Spanish manors, American-style art-Deco hotels and Russian designed brutalist housing. The city like its cars is bright and regal, yet, cracked and rusted.

West of Havana, after the bus stopped briefly to allow a swarm of Cuban Red Crabs cross the road, I arrive at the Viñales Valley. I go horse riding in the valley with a contact from Havana. The place is lush and idyllic. Small wooden houses, dirt paths and concealed in the wild and vivid green of the countryside our guide identifies crops of tobacco, coffee, vegetables and fruit- so much that the locals give mangos away to tourists.

As our sturdy little horses trudged us through the wilderness, the humidity grew so much that the mosquitoes could swim around us as they fed themselves. I slapped another against my arm into a tiny blood splatter and we heard the first crash of thunder.

Moments before the rain we tied our horses under a tree and ran to a farm house our guide knew. The rain drummed on the metal roof and while we were introduced to the farmers who lived there, a hen and her chicks also sought shelter, followed by a litter of kittens. The coffee they grew was cooked on a stove and I relished the hot cup heavy with deep flavour. Picking up a small kitten that was nuzzling my leg, I practised my Spanish with it while we waited. Across from me a man pulled out dried sheets of tobacco and rolled a cigars. We puffed away, as the kittens slept and the chicks hid from the rain.

I'll never forget leaving that generous shelter, in that beautiful country, in a daze of cosiness- with coffee beans and cigars to take home.