Day 4 (cont.): Remedios--Casa del Cimarron--Viñas

Cuevas de Guajabana: La Casa del Cimarron

 

We follow the asphalt road about two hundred meters to the dirt road leading up to the caves.  The terrain is flat as we make the turn, but we see that the abrupt hills will have their way with us in about two hundred meters in.  

“Up there,” says Alexis. “Can’t see them from here but up there are the caves.”  

From the road I see two green hills; one has been flattened as a result of gravel mining. 

“Las Tetas de Guajabana,” says Alexis. The tits of Guajabana. “That’s what we call them. Before they flattened one with the mining. It’s almost gone. Now it’s a teta y media.” A tit and a half.

A subtle, easy climb winds up the intact teta to the Casa del Cimarrón. Some industrial materials--cement, rebar--litter the flat land leading to a path that disappears into the trees. Excitement bubbles inside me at the chance of seeing this cave which a 1988 Bohemia article dubbed “La Casa del Cimarrón.” 

Day 4: Remedios-Cuevas de Guajabana

Remedios-Cuevas de Guajabana

I came to hide in a cave for a time. I lived there for a year and a half. I went in there thinking that I would have to walk less and because the pigs from around the farms, the plots, and the small landholdings, used to come to a kind of swamp just outside the mouth of the cave. They went to take a bath and wallow around. I caught them easy enough, because a big bunches of them came. Every week I had a pig. The cave was very big and dark like the mouth of the wolf. It was called Guajabán. It was near the town of Remedios. It was dangerous because it had to way out. You had to go in through the entrance and leave by the entrance. My curiosity really poked me to find a way out. But I preferred to remain in the mouth of the cave on account of the snakes. The majases are very dangerous beasts. They are found in caves and in the woods.

--Esteban Montejo

 

The earthy smell of coffee in the morning always makes me smile, especially when I am resigned to hitting the road without it. Joel is the owner of the hostel. It bears his name, brightly painted in blue on the metal garage door. A colorful bandana wraps his head and he has coffee on the stove. He hands me a cup of steaming espresso. 

Day 3 (cont.) Remedios

Remedios

I know a bit about Remedios, even before I walk into town. It has quite a reputation to uphold. I know that now, in 2016, after many years of presenting its case, the city has been officially recognized to be among the eight oldest settlements on the island. Many historians consider it to be the second or third settlement established by the Spaniards as they felt their way around the coast looking for adequate harbors.  There is sound evidence to suggest that by 1578 the town of San Juan de los Remedios already existed, and that as a port of call it had been around since1514, before Trinidad.  Only Baracoa and Bayamo have earlier pedigrees.  But the settlement cycled through a series of names before arriving at San Juan de los Remedios and this fuels the debate about its longevity. 

Day 3: Vueltas-Remedios (21 km)

 El Palenque

The next morning, at 5:30, I met El Químico along with an eager group of his students at the gazebo in the park La Libertad. From there, we will take on our way to Remedios. 

There are six students; four boys and two girls, all dressed casually. No uniforms. All talking at once, standing around El Quimico as if he were a totem. 

“That one there,” said El Quimico as we get ready to head out. “The tall blond guy. He’s the son of the owner of the paladar where we ate yesterday. They do ok. The economy is helping them.  Here if you can’t get in the new economic current, the tourist and things like that, or people who help you from abroad, you’re swinging with two strikes.” 

Day 2: San Antonio de las Vueltas

  

Vueltas

 

Esteban remembered Vueltas as the home of a certain bandit name Menendez who led the Spanish volunteer militia during the war against the Mambís.  The entire province of Las Villas teemed with bandits during the last decades of the 19^th Century.  Over sixteen sugar mills in the proximity to each other made the area attractive to marauders and rebels alike.  Most bandits supported the rebels, and some were revolutionaries themselves.  Some were Robin Hood types, stealing from the wealthy Spaniards and giving to the poor criollos.  Others were just hoods, stealing and pillaging the old-fashioned way.  Esteban remembered some of them fondly. Aguero, who had the well-deserved reputation of being the biggest thief of them all, was one of the good guys, in that world of ethical ambivalence. He relentlessly sacked most of the well-to-do families of northern Las Villas. Rumor had it that he turned some of the loot over to General Maximo Gomez and other Mambí leaders to support the independence effort. Every inch of Cuba has stories that links its revolutionary past to its revolutionary present.  I walked into Vuelta, where the good bandits fed the first revolution, down its dusty streets, and headed for the Casa de Cultura across from the church.