Ciego de Ávila to Sancti Spiritu
48 miles a bus ride to Havana
I am sitting in the bus terminal in Sancti Spiritus willing a bus to come into existence. They are few and far between right now because of the United States strangle hold on oil coming into Cuba, so the best I can do is hope that the kind man behind the counter will squeeze me in one, one way or another.
I was hoping to spend the night here and wander along the pedestrian boulevard after what was actually, not a very difficult day, but with transportation such as it is, I need to be at it’s beck and call. If all goes well, I will land in Havana at midnight.
The reason I am heading there is because I am picking up two friends that will hopefully be cycling with me on the second half of this adventure. We will continue on to the western tip of Cuba and then loop around back to Havana. This is a section of Cuba that I have seen before, when I cycled around it with my partner in crime last year, Louise. It is beautiful and I hope that this difficult year hasn’t had too many negative impacts. I will revisit many of the Casa Particulares that I stayed in to check in.
The bus does indeed come, three hours late, and it is overly full. Still, the driver finds a way to cram my bike below and I cram my sweaty body in amongst all the other sweaty bodies. There are three passengers boarding and only one seat available in the very back row between two other travelers. I am told to take it, and fold myself into this little cubby, amidst a litany of “Con permisos” and “Discúlpames” Suddenly, I am very aware that even an easy 45 mile day bicycling has left me rather ripe. It is a long six hour ride, hip to hip with my seat mates, bouncing along in the dark.
By the time we arrive in Havana it is 2 AM. It is dark and I have somehow miss-placed my bike lights. Being left on the curb in Havana with all my cash in my pocket and no idea where to go in the middle of the night does not feel right, so as exhausted and bleary-eyed as I am, I jump upon my bike and ride off into the streets, the panic of my situation jolting me awake like a strong shot of Cafe Cubano. I don’t even take the time to get out my tools and raise my seat that had been lowered for transport, because I don’t want to be a sitting duck. So I pedal furiously through the dark, knees to chin, feeling like it is safer to be moving than not.
When I get to the city center, I see a tall building with lights all about it and I focus on that as my destination—sure enough it is a hotel. A very high-end luxury hotel with 26 floors and a palatial lobby. I wheel my bike across the polished marble floors and ask how much for a room, knowing it doesn’t matter. Nobody cuts me a break and it is more than I ever dreamed of.
So now, here I am on the 23rd floor, looking out over the Habana and using every towel I can, every bit of WiFi, every shampoo, drinking the “free” bottled water and gorging on my included breakfast, happy to be alive and well. Sometimes life hands you lemons, and in that case I know just what to do.
