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OK, we woke up the next morning and we were both quite excited about our pending drive to Baracoa along the Northern coastal road from Guadalavaca. It seemed a shame to leave such a paradise, but we had to start exploring Cuba before we descended into a beachy slumber in this lovely all-inclusive resort. I was also warned quite strongly, from nearly everything I read, that driving at night in Cuba was a very very bad idea with no street lighting at all and night-time roads bustling with massive lorries, carted horses and locals on bicycles. There was also harsh long term prison sentences for tourists involved in serious car accidents, so this all meant that driving in the dark was a big no-no for us. However, I had planned to set off at 10am that morning for the 4 hour drive to Baracoa, so I felt that we had plenty of time to get lost a few times and still get there well before it got dark at 6pm. I also felt determined that a few little potholes were not going to ruin our fun — and I just had to take my time a bit on the journey. So, how hard could this be right? Well, things first started to go wrong when the hire car man told us that the car we had allocated had broken down, so they had to drive a new one from Holguin. However, it did mean that we were not setting off until Noon now and we had only six hours to get to Baracoa. This still gave us a good two hours to get lost on our journey, but we were now starting to cut it fine. I discovered this harsh reality when I spoke to a taxi driver who was parked up outside the hotel, to ask him which direction to go in, and he just coughed and laugh when I told him we were driving to Baracoa. Be careful. I had been misinformed. But we had no choice, and our room was booked in Baracoa that night, so Heidi and I just exchanged mildly concerned glances with each other, before then clambering into the car and setting off into the unknown streets of Cuba. This was mainly because we were on a straight road out of Guadalavaca, with nice flat tarmac, and I had also found an old map on the internet back home, that told us we were heading in the correct direction. Of course, this T-junction then turned out to be non-existent and we soon discovered that we were heading in the wrong direction when our nice road through lush countryside gradually turned into a thin and massively populated town road full of traffic, dust and local people. This was clearly going to be a sign of things to come and our happy chilled driving day mood was slowly descending into a misty shroud of mild anxiety as we clearly already had no idea where we were going, and we were only 20 kilometres into our km journey. Luckily, after some aimless driving around and more pointless anglo-spanish conversations looking for directions, we finally managed to find our way out of the town and back onto the correct road. We were superheroes of adventure though, so onwards we went, glad to be going in the right direction once more and despite the worrying, still thoroughly enjoying the countryside around us and the views of the real rural Cuba. Ah, ok then, this was why we needed a four wheel drive, thanks for the warning Mr hire car man. Pretty soon, we were reduced to an average speed of around 10 km per hour as driving turned into a krypton factor test of dexterity through seemingly un-passable stretches of road. Any of the ridges, cliffs, rocks, lumps and bumps ahead of us could have grounded our little Peurgeot at any time, so every 10 metres of driving caused us to wince and curse as we half expected our car to bottom out and strand us in the deserted countryside around us. Despite this, Heidi was outstandingly great and relaxed throughout the entire journey and we still managed to keep a grip on things with smiles on our faces. After another hour or so of this roller coaster of a road, things improved slightly with the potholes and soon we were able to pick up a bit of speed as we hit the coastal road that headed East along the top of Cuba. This lifted our wildly ambitious hopes of making it in time slightly and we made some good headway for half an hour or so. There were no signs at all, so to make sure that we were still headed towards the next town on the map, we decided to quickly stop at each of these junctions and ask a local which road we needed to take. This seemed like a good plan at the time until I decided to ask one guy on the side of the road that had some kind of green uniform on. I thought maybe he was traffic police or something, so would be able to point us in the right direction, and we pulled up in front of him. I clambered out of our car and started walking towards him and he eyed me suspiciously as I approached. I showed him my scrap of a map and pointed at the next town that I wanted to go to and he just stared at me blankly. We had a hitchhiker, and a creepy one at that, and even though we had heard that hitch hiking was quite common in Cuba, we did not really have the time or inclination to get involved in this right now. Especially with a scary man in a uniform in deepest rural Cuba. Once more, we had been given no real choice and as I drove, Heidi tried unsuccessfully communicating with our new guest, getting not much of a response from him at all. Things got worse. We had an angry escaped prisoner in the back who was increasingly grunting incomprehensible Spanish words at us and we started to look like we were running out of fuel. This posed another problem for us, as we suddenly realised that for the last 3 hours or so, we had only seen one petrol station. As I contemplated all this with a growing level of mild distress, and Heidi continued in her frustrated mission to communicate happy things with our axe murderer, we suddenly smashed through a hidden, but deep, pothole in the road at quite a fast speed. The bang was ferocious and we were all instantly certain that some real damage had been done. Damage was indeed done, but not in the way we had expected. Instead of the puncture, snapped axel or ruptured exhaust that we were fearing from our collision, we instead found that our windscreen wipers decided to turn themselves on. Not only that, but they would not let us turn them off again, and as the car was dry as a bone they made ear-wrenching screech noises with every swipe. This added a slightly comical tone to our predicament at first, but we soon then realised that we had also lost our indicators and lights. Something electrical had been screwed by the pothole and we were now in the middle of deepest rural Cuba with an axe murderer in the back seat, darkness approaching fast on a barely passable road, with no lights or indicators, kilometres to go, and then to top it all off, we had a set of windscreen wipers firing abuse at us consistently every one and a half seconds. It was mentally exhausting, but strangely I knew we were still both having fun as we flashed nervous smiles to each other from time to time. We had worked out that he was in fact working for the army, as a young recruit and he was simply hitch hiking a lift home from boot camp. He proved useful too as he then directed us through his village and set us on our way to the next town, Moa. The wind screen wipers were still screeching on relentlessly, but crucially we had managed to get our lights working, and as if things were starting to take a turn for the better for us, we finally saw a petrol station looming in the distance as we approached Moa. I then filled us up with gasoline and walked in to pay the woman for the fuel and purchase a medley of munchies and drinks. However, as I walked back, I noticed with a sudden shudder of dread that there was a huge pool of black liquid developing under and around our car. This sealed our fate of driving doom as we were now completely broken down in an unknown town which was the most polluted place in Cuba, miles away from any tourists. We were now emotionally and physically tired, and we had just literally given up all hope of this day being a success. The magic of a cool beer not only refreshed us, but it also seemed to change the direction of our fate that day, and for once things started going our way. First, the grumpy attendant lady walked over and sat with us. She wore a big smile this time and it was clear that she had now worked out what was going on and was willing to help. She then called over another guy from out back who spoke a little English and we explained to him about everything that happened. He then went and had a chat with one of the scary-looking trucker guys and one of them turned out to be a mechanic. The mechanic then clambered himself under the car and started going about his business. Things were on the move in the upwards direction. The car however, was completely dead, as he told us a few minutes later, but I think we were just glad that they turned out to be nice friendly mechanics instead of scary truckers who were going to ship us off up into the mountains and make soup out of us. This was premier league adventuring and we had spent many hours amidst some of the most breathtaking countryside that we would ever see. We had gone to visit the real rural Cuba, and despite it being just as difficult as the warnings had said, the real Cuba had been friendly and very beautiful back. Heidi was turning out to be an amazing person to spend time with and she had kept her infectiously bubbly personality glowing throughout all of this turmoil, and to top it all off, we were still only a few days into our amazing trip into Cuba. For now though, this story comes to an end with a deep rum-fuelled sleep and it will continue tomorrow as our quest to make it to the enchanting Baracoa would continue. This entry was posted on December 7, at pm and is filed under Cuba. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2. You can leave a response , or trackback from your own site. Blog at WordPress. Travel Blog Adventure stories…. Cuba — Moa ». Cuba — Driving to Baracoa OK, we woke up the next morning and we were both quite excited about our pending drive to Baracoa along the Northern coastal road from Guadalavaca. Driving from Guadalavaca to Baracoa. Nice Start! Random town Banes. Uh Oh! Walking to School.. Testing the suspension. More beautiful countryside.. Sleeping at Sunset. Oh well, the countryside was nice.. Hola Heidi! Share this: Facebook X. Like Loading Leave a comment Cancel reply. Comment Reblog Subscribe Subscribed. Travel Blog. Sign me up. Already have a WordPress. Log in now. Loading Comments Email Required Name Required Website. Design a site like this with WordPress.

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Baracoa buy coke

If you want to stop emotional eating — Cuba is the place for you! There are no packets of chips; there is no chocolate well, except locally made chocolate in Baracoa ; you have to look hard for icecream, and when you do find it you have to be prepared to eat mL; it is rare to find anything other than Cuban soft drink, none of which is diet if you do find Coke, it is twice the price and no Coke Zero. Instead, what is on offer if you know where to look — not easy are home-made snacks that turned out to be very interesting! Chocolate Baracoa — handmade dark chocolate. My favourite was sweetened with honey rather than sugar and included a little cinnamon. Churros Bayamo — essentially long donuts — the same as churros in Australia. This cone of churros with condensed milk and powered sugar cost 20 cents. I reckon there is a market in Cuba for foodie tours….

Baracoa buy coke