It was incredibly hot and humid, but with this kind of scenery, we barely noticed.

A mango tree. I love the way they grow.

I have never before seen palm trees growing on a mountain. It’s a very cool sight.

Looking up at a Royal Palm, the national tree of Cuba.

Technically, it was called an orchid garden (rather than a botanical garden as I called it in my previous post) so the focus was on the many wonderful varieties of orchids.

A bug eating plant. Note the fly on the left side of the plant. We waited patiently for the plant to eat it, but it refused to give us a show.

The view at the beginning of our hike in the Viñales Valley.

A hefty looking tree that is a type baobab.

Dried tobacco leaves in the warehouse where we had our cigar rolling demonstration.

The postcard image of the Viñales Valley and its mogotes.

©2010 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

So much of the landscape of the Cuban countryside is unaffected by human alteration and thrives freely. It looked like the simple crayon images kids often create where despite their actual environment, everything is where it’s supposed to be. Shaggy edges of Jungle Green grass, Sky Blue with globby white clouds, a simple Raw Umber house here and there. Every so often, a classic car whizzed by to give it a stroke of pastel. Hitchhikers gathered underneath freeway overpasses that led to nowhere to escape from the heat and catch a ride while uniformed government workers oversaw the process.

We passed through small villages and farming communities where lines of clothing in a colorful array of shades waved against the blue and white… Cuba’s own version of Mexico’s ubiquitous decorations, papel picado. People ranging from the blond-haired and blue-eyed to those with the almost black skin of West Africa lived their lives intertwined in these villages. Elderly people sat on their porches and slowly rocked the time by in their chairs.

We stopped in Soroa, an eco-tourism spot set in thick tropical vegetation a winding drive away from the main freeway. There, we had lunch and the option to visit a botanical garden. Our ride had given us a glimpse of how incredibly fertile the area was, and we all decided a garden visit would be worth it. We saw several types of orchids, mango trees, bug eating plants and woodpeckers. At the top of the garden, I looked out at mountains covered with palm trees that are endemic to Cuba with awe and admiration for Mother Nature’s possibilities.

When we arrived in Viñales, I was immediately captured by it. Time after time, little countryside towns that serve as a base for the nature that surrounds them often turn out to be my favorite places. Not everyone in the group shared my instant fierce passion for Viñales. “Is this it?” a group member asked as we arrived in the sleepy town. “There’s nothing here!” It’s true, the main square in the town consisted of a few benches, a couple buildings and a rundown church. But there was something so inviting about the atmosphere of the town; it felt like a place you could get to know quickly.

In Viñales, we stayed in casa particulares near the town center. Our guide began assigning casas, and I asked if my roommate and I could stay in the one were standing in front of. I’d peeked in and liked the rocking chairs and sparkly gold-tinted beaded curtains I saw inside.

Everyone went to settle in, and our guide accompanied the vegan Aussie couple to explain their dietary situation to their casa owner. He told her that they didn’t eat anything that came from an animal—they would not eat meat, milk products, eggs or even honey. The casa owner’s response to this? Sustained, uncontrollable laughter… until she realized it was not a joke. Her demeanor reversed and she became very serious and determined to make them good food. At the house next door, another casa owner that a group member was staying with had been listening to the whole exchange and never stopped laughing.

After enjoying our most flavorful meals thus far at our respective casas, we went back to the main square to go salsa dancing at Viñales’s one and only club… except none of us danced that night. We were all too self-conscious to get up there with people for whom salsa dancing was as easy as walking. We had the silly idea that after our salsa lesson the next day, we would be ready to join the Cubans.

The next morning, since we were all interesting in hiking through the Valle de Viñales, we arranged to do a group hike. Our guide looked to be in his late 40s or early 50s. He’d grown up in the area and knew a great deal about it. He probably led these hiking tours all the time, but with childlike enthusiasm he pointed out the different types of flowers and the sayings about them. He showed us plants that close when you touch them and a tree that is related to the baobab tree of Africa.

He knew all of the guajiros and gaujiras we passed by and their life stories. We exchanged holas and smiles with them. They posed proudly for pictures. We stopped for juicy mangoes and pineapple and guava in a farmer’s flowering tree enclosed yard in the middle of a vast expanse of fields. The farmer had a gentle demeanor and poured us glasses of his syrupy raisiny homemade wine. We’d set out early to avoid sweltering heat and high humidity, but even in the morning, it was unbelievably hot. We were all ready for shade and showers so we decided not to linger too long. We took off for our last stop on the hike, a cigar rolling demonstration.

Later, we all went to visit the Mural de la Prehistoria, an ugly and inexplicably painted cliff side. If nothing else, the absurdity of the mural’s existence provided some laughter. From there, we went to  a lookout point to see Viñales’s postcard image overlooking the valley and the unlikely karst formations that jut out of it. It was reminiscent of Halong Bay in Vietnam, except rather than sea, it was farmland. And instead of traditional floating fishing villages, there were farmers living and working the same way they had been for a couple hundred years.

Viñales’s verdancy was fresh and enchanting. But even more charming were the people of Viñales, who compared to compared to Havana, were easy to connect with. In the end, it was the people of Viñales who would solidify my love for the town and reveal Cuba to me in ways I didn’t expect.

©2010 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

People gather on the Malecón, Havana’s living room.

A father holds his daughter’s hand as she walks on the seawall.

A tall building stands out in a row of buildings in various states.

A row of colorful buildings across from the Malecón

Urban decay.

Cathedral de la San Cristobal in Old Havana.

A bakery in Old Havana.

A statue in Hotel Florida in Old Havana

The classic Cuban must-shoot.

A market in Old Havana.

Clothes hanging to dry outside of windows, a very common scene in Cuba.

A street leading to the former Capitol Building.

©2010 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

I know this will send my indie traveler cred tumbling down, but I have a confession to make: I traveled with a tour group in Cuba. The tour was just about a week long, had only six other members who were also backpackers, and left me with my days free to do whatever I wanted instead of following a tour leader the whole time. But still, it was a tour that allowed me to not have the independent traveler challenges I most likely would’ve faced while navigating Cuba on my own. And I’m glad I did it.

Last year’s backpacking trip to Peru and Bolivia had been all about challenge. While it was an incredible experience, I wasn’t looking to throw myself head first into that same type of travel struggle this year. So after I tried unsuccessfully to coordinate my schedule with other friends interested in visiting Cuba and my bit of research led me to believe that I had no clue where to begin planning a trip around the island, I booked a tour that would take away from the planning aspect and leave time for me to explore Cuba as I wanted to.

On my second day, after my jet lag and initial culture shock had been slept off, I went for a walk. I’d arrived a day before the tour began and had the day to explore before checking in with the group that evening. So I went from the Vedado neighborhood where I was staying to walk along the Malecon and then continued in the direction of Old Havana. I didn’t quite make it to Old Havana, but instead wandered through a part of town that was obviously poorer than I what I’d seen thus far.

My dark skin blended in with many of the residents who inhabited this crumbling neighborhood. Amongst Cuba’s impressive equality, inequality has been created by income from expat family members and tourism; two types of income that darker residents of Cuba are less likely to have access to. From what I saw, this was much more apparent in Havana than on the countryside. As I walked around, I took out my camera to snap some photos. I could tell that only then were the locals aware that I was a tourist.

Back at the hotel, I came across two people who would be part of my group. They were a couple from Melbourne in their early thirties. They said they were off to find something to eat. I asked why they didn’t want to go with the group to dinner later that evening. “We’re going to go along with you guys, but we have a special diet and want to eat before dinner,” they replied. I pressed for more information until they came out with the whammy… they were vegans. I laughed internally, wondering what kind of effect traveling in Cuba with two vegans would have on our trip.

Later, I met the rest of the group. My roommate was from Norway, there were two guys from Sydney, and a woman from Florida via Poland.  The group seemed like it would mesh well and we were all within a 10 year age range. We went to dinner followed by drinks at a bar.

It was the weekend, and the city that seemed strangely quiet to me during the daytime was coming alive at night. It seemed like everyone of all ages was out walking around, drinking rum, or heading to the clubs and bars. We decided the best place to spend our first night as a group was at an open-air sit down bar where we could listen to live music and talk. As I sipped a mojito and conversed with my insta-friends, I couldn’t get over how incredible the band sounded. There, in a generic bar, I was listening to an amazing world class Cuban band who played with passion, but at the same time, played like it was nothing. No big deal. Es Cuba.

©2010 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

In the airport, I saw the jineteros and jineteras I expected to see, hanging all over their unlikely foreign significant others. I saw the bored female staff with hiked-up skirts, attempting to look as appealing as possible in hopelessly unflattering uniforms.

But what I didn’t expect to see as I left the airport and headed into the city was how though it was far from affluent, it wasn’t as poor as I thought it would be. Since I didn’t know what to expect, I’d projected images and ideas of other countries that I thought were similar on my hidden expectations of Cuba. The people I saw were “modern” looking and well-dressed. People seemed to have enough to eat. There was a lot of simple housing, but no slums. Everyone seemed to be out and about on the street or packed into buses, but there were no vendors. What struck me the most was that in general, aside from people who had money flowing in through expat relatives or jineterismo, the colorful array of residents seemed to be living their lives fairly equally.

In my mind, I’d thought, “Cuba will be like this country or that country and I will love it immediately.” Though Cuba might share a similar early history with other places I’ve visited, it’s relatively recent history makes it dissimilar from anywhere else in the world. And though I was impressed with what I saw, at the time, it seemed like there was an impenetrable reservedness about the country that would keep me from really getting into the culture.

When I arrived at my hotel, my room was not available yet. I went to the hotel restaurant to wait and have lunch. As I carefully browsed the list of sandwiches on the menu, the waiter came by and rolled his eyes at my audacity to think that there were options. He pointed at the ham and cheese sandwich listed on the menu and told me it was the only meal available. So I ordered it. Out came a ham sandwich, dripping with American “cheese” and a side of fries—an ironic first meal.

A few hours later, my room was ready. The peeling paint revealed the many layers that had been applied in an effort to cover up the previous peeling layer. The window air-conditioner blew warm air around the room. The pillows were the thinnest I’d ever seen. But it was fairly clean and it was manageable.

My tiredness and the weather kept me from exploring too much that afternoon and evening. The humidity level was so high that I barely had to move to feel like I was loosing bucket loads of fluids with each step. I showered and got organized with the idea that as evening approached, I would go out in cooler weather. The thick and moist Caribbean air’s ability to retain heat prevented that from happening.

But it was then it set in that I was in Havana, and there was no way I was going to hang around my hotel because I was sleepy and hot and in a bit of a funk. So I walked, slowly and aimlessly and stumbled upon a bit of Havana’s character for the first time. Across the street, I noticed a man painting to salsa music. I liked the way people seemed to be genuinely interested in watching this man create art or were simply enjoying the music he was playing. Everyone who walked by stopped to watch and looked happy to have a bit of free entertainment. An old man felt inspired enough to break out his salsa moves as a cigar hung out of the corner of his mouth.

I saw that there was a restaurant behind the guy painting and decided to eat there. Of the many dishes listed on the menu, just two were available. Pork cooked this way, or pork cooked that way. The waitress looked annoyed, but more forgiving than the previous waiter of the silly tourist who didn’t know better than to think that everything on the menu would be available. I had a mojito to wash down another pork product meal and renewed resolve to get to know as much as I could of Cuba as it is, not as it was, not as a place that is similar to another place, not as an inanely forbidden place, not through the idealistic eyes of others… just as it is, or at least how I saw it based on what I would see, hear, or do.

Back in my room, I opened the curtain to see what dusk in Havana looks like. Why bother painting the decrepit buildings when if even just for several minutes a day, you have the sun to illuminate them with rose-colored light?

I wanted to see what Cuban TV looked like. I watched silly short cartoons. A volleyball match. Bands playing wonderful music. But what stood out most of all was a public service announcement commercial: A woman goes to a park with her dog and lets the dog run wild. Some people are scared of the dog and jump on top of tables to avoid it. The verdict on the dog owner’s actions? WRONG. Then we see the same woman going to the same park, but this time, she keeps her dog on a leash. The people who were scared before are now happy and enjoying the park. CORRECT.

And with that message in mind, I went to bed.

©2010 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

Wind pushes the fog over the bridge like waves, splattering our faces with condensation. Tourists who didn’t anticipate the cold walk by in newly purchased jackets, socks worn with dress sandals, and some are unprepared in flip flops and shorts. It is August, after all.

I ask one of ours how his day has been and he responds, “Too much wind and too much walking.” I can only hope that a nonchalant exterior hides appreciation for experiential learning and that several years from now, the appreciation will have multiplied.

I turn to the east and see where the fog meets the sun and look forward to heading towards light and tiny bit of warmth. I turn to the west to see and the ocean and the horizon. As always, the curvature of the earth sends a surge of wanderlust through me as I think of the places to explore beyond it.

The sounds of hundreds of cars driving by combine and become white noise.  In my head, all I hear is this melody:

©2010 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

I don’t  think jadedness is always a bad thing. I wouldn’t trade the great beauty I’ve seen or the life changing travel experiences I’ve had for a lack of it. And it’s been through my motley up and down experiences that I’ve been able to find a remedy for jadedness and reserves of creativity in reveling in the subtle, simple aspects of destinations.

But still, I love it when jadedness doesn’t even factor in to my travels; when I feel childlike, or in awe of a place, or like I don’t know what I am doing. If Mexico City’s surprising warmth and charm began to melt away some of my travel jadedness, Cuba took an ice pick and hacked away at it.

Jadedness can sometimes be the result of a life that is being attempted to be fully lived, and I can see the positive side to that, but I know there are downsides. Jadedness can prematurely make you think you know when in reality, you’ve only just begun to peek into the vast unknown. So eventually you go to a place that breaks your ideas into little pieces and when you try to put them back together, some pieces are missing and the rest just don’t fit like they used to. Welcome to Cuba.

©2010 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

When I enjoy a country as much as I enjoyed Mexico, I always look for ways to experience a little bit of the culture at home. So now that I am back, I’ve finally listened to her music and I have been pleasantly surprised. Her approach is similar to that of Marie Daulne of Zap Mama; she fuses elements of music from both of her cultures with other styles from around the world.

I chose to share this particular song, because although she has a rich alto voice rather than piercing soprano voice, it resembles the type of song and feeling from the experience I wrote about in my previous entry. The genre of music is ranchera, traditional Mexican music which is often performed by mariachi bands and usually revolves around the subjects of love, nature and patriotism. Enjoy:

For more on Lila Downs’ interesting history, go here.

To listen to some more of her music, go here.

©2010 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

By train, it takes a long, long time to get from Coyoacan to its neighboring district, Xochimilco. Even with my new found adoration for moving about Mexico City, as I got on to the third train of the day, I began to wonder if it would be worth it to go. I didn’t know what to expect once I got to Xochimilco other than a trip down a canal on a colorful boat.

I was by myself and not sure how that would alter the experience. A group of Americans staying at my hostel told me I definitely needed to go with a group or it would not be as fun. An American solo traveler told me she had gone alone and it was weird, but worth it to go anyway.

I thought it might be possible to find others to join up with when I got there, but when I arrived at the dock, there were a lot of empty boats and no other tourists in sight. But I figured that since I’d gone all that way, I might as well just go.

Out on the river, I was entertained by drunk college-age kids who jumped in to the murky water, intrigued by the old women who rowed by selling beer and snacks to boat riders, and calmed by the serenity of Xochimilco and the reflections on the canal.

A family standing on a bridge smiled at me and called out, “Tranquilo?”

“Si, si!” I replied. But I was still not convinced that the experience outweighed the time it took to get to get there. So when I floated by a mariachi band on a snack break and they asked me if I want to hear some music, I said yes. Anything to enhance the day. The man rowing their boat stuck his foot on mine to get closer and row alongside.

They straightened themselves out and began to perform, five men and a girl who looked to be no older than 15. The girl sat out on the first song, writing in a notebook, maybe doing homework. They asked if I want to hear another song and I said yes again. This time, the girl sang backup. And then I said yes to another song. This time, the girl sang a solo.

You know the overused saying, “Sing like no one is listening”? This girl’s mantra seemed to be, “I know you’re listening, and I don’t give a crap.” She leaned over into my boat, looked me directly in the eyes, and sang with a convincing passion I have never heard before from someone so young.

Her eye contact made me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t look away. It almost felt like she was challenging me to reveal my inner workings through her own revelation. She gained the attention of other boats and they slowed down to listen to her voice soar to highest notes a voice can possibly reach.

Her soprano voice is one that is capable of piercing through layers—deep into sorrow, fear, unfulfilled dreams—whatever you have hidden the best and stored the furthest away from the surface. She draws it out of you and takes it into her song. And with each crescendoing note she holds, she exhales it, sustaining and growing the note, making you confront it in its entirety, ending the note only when the toxicity of whatever it is has dissipated.

Goosebumps crawled up my arms as I tried to make an applause as loud as one person possibly can. The mariachi band asked if I want to hear another song, and I said no. I knew it was best to leave it at that. Back on land, I returned to the train station for the long ride back to Coyoacan. Xochimilco had been worth it, even if only for a few minute music therapy session.

©2010 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.

La Casa Azul, also known as the Frida Kahlo Museum.

An elaborate image of Mexico’s coat of arms in a building in the Palacio Nacional.

Diego Rivera murals at the Palacio Nacional depicting life in Mexico before the colonists arrived…

… and then how things changed once the colonists got there. I already love Diego Rivera’s sense of aesthetics and this series of murals was incredibly moving.

Botanical garden at the Palacio Nacional.

A flag waves at the top of the Metropolitan Cathedral in the Zocalo (main square).

Walls inside the Metropolitan Cathedral.

Wonderful bench around the corner from the Cathedral. Great to look at, but way too hot to sit on that day. I learned the hard way.

Juggling fire and standing on a ladder in the middle of traffic… a very dangerous way to make a living!

One of my “fancier” meals in Mexico. My hostel mate and I ventured over to the chichi Condesa neighborhood to have dinner with her friend at an organic-ish restaurant. This place also had a store that was a trip, it was like a mini version of Whole Foods.

Boats of Xochimilco.

Reflection on a Xochimilco Canal.

Mariachi band for hire on a Xochimilco canal.

Colorful decorations in Xochimilco.

©2010 Girl, Unstoppable. All Rights Reserved.