The Optimistic Traveller

You read that correctly. I have a small scar on my ankle, as well as some Cuban cigars to rhyme, as mementos from our trip to Pinar del Rio in the Viñales Valley of Cuba.

We landed at the AirBnB haphazardly after several hours in a classic American car cum Cuban taxi. The ad we had booked from was either fake, or the cab driver just couldn’t find it, so we sat on an old lady’s porch next door and, through a strange combination of English, Spanish, Italian, hand gestures, and facial expressions (mostly frowns), managed to convey what had happened. She sat us down, gave us water in the August heat, and called someone she knew who just happened to run a different AirBnB up the hill a bit.

Ridel’s English was pretty darn good, relatively speaking. He swooped us up, offered us dirt cheap rooms and wi-fi, and, generally, helped us calm the f down. I say this last part even though I was going with the flow. Meredith and I are different travelers. And that’s a good thing, except when I felt helpless, like a bad friend, as I could do nothing to alleviate her growing panic about our situation.

We’re still not sure if we’d been robbed at the previous AirBnB. I tend to think not – that I didn’t bring the extra $100 I had, and that we forgot things we’d bought, or possibly the children on the street asking for Crocs adornments had a ruse to pickpocket. Generally, people in Havana were very nice; though, to be fair, the rooms at the boutique hotel had access points other than the farcical locked doors, and sometimes the staff seemed everpresent in our activities, such as lingering awkwardly nearby as we were dipping in the pool.

Regardless, I hadn’t brought enough cash for a stay half as long, since I couldn’t withdraw funds from any ATM or use my credit cards anywhere. Meredith had certainly mentioned the credit card thing, but I remained lackadaisical, naively hopeful that she was being overly cautious.

As we counted our money like little foreign paupers (‘Scuse me sir, could ya spare a tuppence?), we realized that something had to give or else we wouldn’t be able to do anything else we’d planned, including travel to our next destination two or three hours away – let alone get back home on the flight in a few days. It was a bit daunting.

We explained our full situation to Ridel, who arranged for a semi-shady transaction with a friend of his. TropiPay, Cuba’s version of PayPal or something like that, enabled us to transfer money from our accounts to his. Then, he brought us the cash from his bank. It was elaborate, maybe scary, and challenging due to spotty internet on top of that, but it saved us — it. It actually saved the entire trip and made me hardly able to wait until I could come to Cuba again, next time outfitted with a bit more good sense (and a lot of cash).

We took our money to the horsebacking riding adventure that Meredith had prearranged. Earlier, upon realizing our plight, we had considered canceling, our boys nervously standing by, probably already ready for the next meal (which we couldn’t pay for) and not truly caring about the horse thing one bit. (They were both in the middle of obvious growth spurts and mood swings.)

I’ve ridden horses before, but never in such glorious landscape, and never with as spunky a horse as was assigned to me based on my claimed stated previous experience. It rained intermittently as we made our way to a small bar in an open-air hut in the middle of nowhere; my coconut and the rum they kept refilling it with did me right. After that stop, we went with one of the guides to an amazing cave system, Cueva del Indio, getting off the horses and walking in very narrow spaces with limited light. We were told that at another time of year the space would be completely flooded. This statement wasn’t exactly calming, given the light rain that continued coming down amidst the earliest signs of dusk. Meredith abstained from entering the wending caves and met us about an hour later when we exited. The formations were impressive even to my old eyes, which had seen the famous Blanchard Springs Caverns in Arkansas many times, as well as underground cathedral-like cave spaces in Puglia, Italy.

At times my horse was happy to break into a nice trot, rendering me sore in the nether areas for several days after the adventure. Admittedly, I was showing off a bit, and my crotch punished me for it later. (It wouldn’t be the first time that happened, but I digress.)

Our last stop on the journey was a tobacco farm, where we sampled rum and watched a third-generation farmer hand roll a cigar — which we then happily smoked. We also purchased cigars and, apparently, smuggled them back to the States. (I had no idea they were still illegal to bring back. Why, it’s hardly a visit to Cuba if you can’t return with cigars! Or so my undeveloped theory goes.)

There was something magical on that farm. As the sun went down and we glistened from rain and sweat, and our boys explored the field, I just knew I’d be friends with Meredith for another 35 years, at least.

We made our way back on the horses by the light of the moon to catch a car to Ridel’s place, content and exhausted. I had felt the heavy metal stirrup abrasive against my ankle, particularly when my gallant equine friend had trotted, but I chose to ignore the mild pain, given there was nothing I could really do about it.I had felt the heavy metal stirrup abrasive against my ankle, particularly when my gallant equine friend had galloped, but I chose to ignore the mild pain, given there was nothing I could really do about it.

In a few days we would head to the coast and spend hours languishing in the warm bathtub that is the Atlantic Ocean in that particular place and time of year. Little did I know that saltwater exposure to wounds, while restorative in small doses, can hinder cell and skin repair in large ones. After hours standing in the beautiful sun and clear water, I had solidified my most permanent memento of Cuba – a small scar that would forever be a reminder of the healing horseback ride that made our trip imperfectly perfect.

I can’t wait to get back in the saddle.