I headed back toward the Parque Marti. At Casa del Tobacco, I asked which is the best cigar? He response was enlightening – the one you like is the best cigar. Some like it strong, mild or light. Cohiba is priced at US$25 each! He invited me to try some but I declined as I don’t smoke. I was probably put off by my late grandfathers affordable local cigars back in Malaysia. Not quite the same experience I presume. I bought some mild Partagas cigars for 4.5CUC each as souvenirs. All came with individual metal screw top containers. That fitted safely in by backpack. Cuban cigars are offered all over the country by local street peddlers. You may get the good stuff but purchase at your own risk as most a known to be off grades.

For lunch, I headed towards the port and a great seafood lunch. Not a good idea I thought with my tummy bug. I gave it a go anyway. The port however was quite empty with a few fishing boats at the wharf. Thought I might get some medication for my disturbing tummy. I headed to La Union Hotel which does have a smallish dispensary. However, she suggested that I headed to the international clinic for a thorough check-up.

In the evening I took a slow stroll along Cienfuegos’s Malecon. Three kids were engrossed and serious about their fishing. In a bucket, they had caught a few small fishes. I asked if these were too mall. It would be good for “fritos’, fried, one replied with glee. I met a local family heading out for celebratory (graduation) dinner. The girl was dressed like an Indian. I commented on her dress to which she replied that she is married to a Pakistani and that she is a Muslim. There is a small population here in Cuba. The sun was just setting on the bay.  A few fishing boats departed the harbour.

My body was tired and uneasy with my tummy. My experience in Cienfuegos was sort of ‘limited’. Dinner was on the Prado, a lovely place called Memperas. It was one of best meals so far in Cuba. I even decided on desert, Flan, a light cake with lots of sugary syrup. Despite my current physical condition, I could not resist. Returned to my casa early and my body situation was not good at all. No sleep either. Bugger!

The following day, feeling dehydrated and lethargic decided to get some help at an international clinic. The heat in Cienfuegos is intense compared to Havana and Trinidad. It compounded the problem. My journey in Cienfuegos was impacted by my well-being. Besides the heat, this city would certainly make a great visit. Headed back to the casa and crashed onto the bed until my departure to Trinidad at 2.45pm. Another bici taxi ride to the bus station.

I headed for Cienfuegos from Trinidad. Many actually suggested that I gave this town a miss. I though I’ll see for myself. Caught the Viazul bus at 7.45am. I had booked my accommodation through Nilda. A bicitaxi man picked me up and dropped at the Casa Regla. The room was small and an even smaller bathroom. No windows but the door had some slits on them. All these for 25CUC! I would not suggest this place to anyone unless they dropped the price.

I was out onto the streets with a rather uncertain tummy. Yet, the exploration goes on. I walked across the wide Paseo El Prado. Soon I met with two famous Cuba’s personalities – a bronze statue of local boy Benny More, a musician and vocalist, on Prado. Looking from above is an oversized poster of Che Guevara, a revolutionary leader.  They made an odd couple. People gathered on this street to chat and rest. It was exposed to the sun as shade was limited. Close to the La Union Hotel, I had breakfast. Bicitaxi peddlers waited looking for their next fare on the street with an unused rail track in the middle. I ventured further into a pedestrian only boulevard. I slowly dragged my weakened body across this street packed with people and ended at the Parque Jose Marti. Heavy smell of fumes from buses and lorries hung heavily in the hot late morning air. It was a hot day with only a few people wandering this park. However, on its peripheral, restaurants and retails shop were doing brisk business. I visited the Palacio de Gobierno. All the explanation were in Spanish and only a few artefacts and exhibits were on display. Across the plaza, the grand neo-classical Catedral de la Purisima. The architecture, classical faded colonial grandeur, here is quite different from other places I had visited. They are grand and definitely make a statement. A great place to people-watch. Strangely, I noticed several Che portraits but not Castro. It was extraordinarily hot and humid in Cienfuegos. To escape the heat, I entered a shoe shop. It was temporary bliss – air condition.

I took a tour of Montero Cigar Factory close to the train station. . A local bicitaxi guy took me there. Unfortunately, all the explanation was in Spanish. In this factory, dried tobacco leaves are purchased, processed and distributed as handmade cigars. Only a handful of staff were on the floor today. Most were women and interestingly, only less than twenty percent smoked. Most work around eight hours a day. The graded leaves, slightly transparent and moist, are handed over to individual staff member. The initial process is to remove the midrib and stack the halves. These leaves are then moved to the ‘rolling’ room. About ten leaves are rolled tightly and placed onto a mold which is pressed for about twenty minutes. At this stage they do resemble a cigar but ‘rough’. The final part of the processing is to use high quality leaves as the casing and smaller cut pieces onto the ends. Plant resin from Canada is used to glue the leaves. The process is complete – a handmade Cuban cigar.  It looks simple enough but the skills required is in the experience. In this factory, all kinds of brands are made based on leaf quality – Cohiba, Montecristo, Romeo y Julieta, Partagas, a more. Each worker is not confined to making one ‘type’ of make. It depends on the quality of leaves given (plus the experience required for the expensive ones). An adjacent room is dedicated to making various grades for the domestic market. All the cigars are then checked for quality and eventually packed into boxes. All the finished products are sold to one company – Habanero, a state owned entity. As we passed a locked room, the guide mentioned that this is where the most expensive leaves are kept. All the products are distributed through two companies, both subsidiaries of the Habanero Company.

I returned from Cienfuegos, I was handed over by Nilda to Esther. My room was a three bed room. Today, I was alone, just a well, running to the loo frequently.  I had not been well, a tummy bug, for a couple of days. I suspect it was the ‘dirty ice blocks’ in my mojito. It was horrendous. I had travelled to several places over the years but I must admit, this was my first experience. Not good at all. However, being ‘stuck’ in Trinidad with some on my new found amigos, was not bad at all. I barely managed to get out. Fortunately, Esther and her daughter took good care of me and provide all the meals. Their version of ‘cure meal’ – white rice with plantain only. Eventually with medication and ‘local treatment’, I was good to continue my journey. Sadly, it also meant I missed out the beaches or perhaps extra days in Havana. There was a remote chance that I might make it to Vinales, the tobacco growing region. Well, such is a journey.

I booked my tickets at Viazul Bus Company for my onward journey to Santiago de Cuba. I was still hesitant as my tummy had not fully recovered. The medication was doing its job and hopefully on my next long bus ride, expected to fifteen hours.

On my last day in Trinidad, I was heading to a classy hotel, Iberostar. Today is the finals of the Rugby World Cup 2015. New Zealand were in the finals meeting our arch rivals Australia. I was hopeful the game would be televised live. I hurried there. However, on my way, I met Sarita, who was excited to see me. She quickly grabbed my hands and brought me to her house. I was hesitant to visit her due to my limitations of communicating in Spanish. Furthermore, the rugby game. She showed off the handmade pottery and other wares that she traded at her home cum shop. The interior of her home was simple. The uncovered bed where all three slept. Furnishing was minimal. In the kitchen were a small rice cooker, a stove, a small refrigerator and a percolator which she brewed some coffee. There was running water and electricity. She had a lovely smile. When ask about her life, she was saddened and did not hide her emotions. A few tears flowed. Her husband had left her, or rather she kicked him out because he was always drunk and no work. Her two young sons were at school and she had to find ways to meet the financial requirements. She offered some flan, a local cheesecake. We talked for about 45 minutes. I left her home slightly dejected at her state of affairs. However, I took some solace from her cheery outlook. This seem to be a strength amongst Cubans. Despite all the hardships brought about by the regime and at a personal family level, they strived on and make do with whatever they had with a can do attitude. Ingenuity, determination and self-reliant. I admired these attributes deeply. I may be late for the game, but I am glad that I had this conversation with Sarita.

I rushed to the upmarket Iberostar Hotel and was disappointed to find there was no live transmission of the game. Just to give another go later, I opted to us their internet facilities. It was meant for their customers only but I managed to get the service. As in Habana, internet availability is limited to big hotels and a few other providers. In a park, just outside the hotel, the locals gathered to get connected. Although many have cell phones, most only have wifi as it is costly to buy data. Well, the game was not televised. In the end, I am pleased to have bumped into Sarita.

For reasons unknown to me, the banks were closed today. Perhaps, these staff had gone on a “siesta”. I needed to change money to pay for my accommodation. I don’t want to upset Esther. I asked around but to no avail. A well-built man approached me on the street. He offered to change money. He had a tough look with dark gold frame sun glasses, gold chains on his neck which reflected brightly against his black skin and numerous rings on almost all his fingers.  In front of the CADECA office, I got what I needed and he actually offered me more than the banks rate, and without the ten percent commission. He pulled out bundles of US dollars in one hand and a cell phone in the other.  I would not mess with this guy but for me, an end to a need. He was cool. A dusk, a tropical rain poured. The cobbled stone streets were flooded with fast running water. It was great as the temperature dropped.

Along any street, little business were conducted from small opening on the walls and windows of ordinary homes. I did not venture outside the colonial cobbled stone streets. Small business like these support the local communities with the daily provisions, Cuban style.

I returned to my casa early as Esther and her daughter had prepared some dinner. Yes, the local cure of rice and plantain. I was feeling all right but not a hundred percent. Nevertheless, I was concerned about my impending overnight journey of 15 hours to Santiago De Cuba the next day.

I met this elderly gentleman with his donkey on the street. He spoke little but I figured that for a small fee, he will give you a guided ride on his donkey around the old town. He had his official licence card attached to his pocket. With a lighted cigar in his mouth and a few more stashed in his shirt pocket, he was quite a character. I liked him because he did not have the tenacity of some of the street touts but instead a humble ‘welcome’. I have a soft spot for old people. What must his life be about? He is certainly older than the revolution, perhaps have participated in it. Perhaps a sugar plantation worker? I slipped a few CUCs into his hands before I left. Although no conversations materialised, I liked him.

Towards lunch time, Cubano and Latin music filled some parts of the old town eateries. The atmosphere was great. Most of the ‘fancy’ restaurants were filled with ‘antique’ furniture and fittings. ‘Antique’ as this is the normal furniture in Cuba’s time-wrapped setting. It fits perfectly with the surroundings and everyday living. After a tasty and filling lunch at one of the restaurant’s dotted around the plaza, I followed the sound of music to Casa de la Musica. Someone waved to me and yelled Malaysia, Amigo! It was Moises. He was in action not with his shinny trumpet but a double bass guitar. With my Cuba Libre, rum and coke in hand, it was a great way to digest my lunch, listening to soothing music. The lyrics took a surprising turn as a song was dedicated to me. Slightly embarrassed and partly a feeling of being ‘local’. Moises and a few guys joined me on their break.

Near Plaza Mayor, I met Senor Jose Luis sunning himself on a chair with a cigar in his hand. The only man in town with a suit and tie. It fitted him persona perfectly.  I noticed a cane on his side. He had a mellowed aura appearance. I had a short chat with him before continuing my walk. I felt a sense of ‘loss of a friend’ when I left. Senor Jose had this effect on me. I was saddened that I could not communicate to find out about his stories behind those intriguing jaded eyes. I would see Senor Jose a few more times before leaving Trinidad. Always, at the same spot.

I decided to walk away from the town centre towards the fringes of the old town. I met a man selling fresh coconuts near Convento de la Asis plaza. A few coconuts were piled up on a wooden wheel barrow.  I quenched my thirst with a cold drink of coconut water. Unlike some people, I scrapped out the white flesh meat. Delicious in the hot and humid weather.

On this stretch of the street, there were accommodations but no restaurants. The bright pastel colours of the houses reflected strongly from the tilting sun. A man offered horse ride up to the mountains. I was slightly under the weather and opted out. Would have been great to wander around the old plantations. Horses and horse carts were kept in this part of the old town. The stench is unmistakable. There were no tourist here. The views however, extended towards the refreshing green mountains. Kids returned from school as families relaxed and chatted on the shaded side walk.

In the golden hour, I wandered around Plaza Mayor. An elderly man strutted some songs on his guitar. The colours on the buildings with its pastel colours glowed in the setting sun. A few people had already gathered on the steps of Casa de Musica and musicians were already warming-up. I wondered if there were any younger musicians around. All the musicians I had seen or spoken to seem aged. For now, I savoured the mellow pace of life here.

For dinner, I headed to one of the local “paladar”. Yes, live music in the restaurant as well in few other establishments. I heard my name called from the street. It was Enrique. This time he was playing the trumpet in a restaurant across the street. It was a good feeling, a simple gesture of acknowledgment from a friend. I admired the likes of Moises and Enrique for their hard work and multi-talent with various instruments. To make a living, they had to be come ‘mercenaries’ of music. Actually independent musicians. It would have been nice to have had some company tonight, I thought. Well, that’s part of independent travel I guess. Later, I returned to Casa de la Musica and had my customary drink, “cuba libre”, rum with coke and lime. The crowd swelled after 10pm as the soul searching tourists’ become bitten by the soothing music of the balmy Cuban night. Perhaps, the drinks contributed towards this effect as well.

From my balcony, I surveyed the street below as the morning sun shined brightly onto the roof terracotta roof tiles. Pedestrians, cyclist and horse driven carts moved slowly on this street. The clouds on the nearby mountains had dissipated. It promised to be a hot day. My tummy was not happy, some kind of bug perhaps.

After a nice and refreshing breakfast, I headed back to Plaza Mayor to contemplate my options today. A distinctive clip-clop sound of horse hoof on cobbled stones was uplifting and gave a rural feeling. I noticed a pig carcass on the back of the cart. Although, Trinidad is a tourist town, the locals have maintained their normal way of live here. Classic American cars also plied the same streets alongside the horses. The central part of this old town is pedestrians only streets.

At Plaza mayor, I met a group of musicians. I was not sure if they were returning home after the night’s events or just starting up. It was quite early. The usual pleasantries, my origins and where I lived and so on. Moises was very curios indeed as he was eager to learn. We talked about economics, agriculture developments, wealth, cost of living and income. I pulled out my notebook to show a roughly scratched world map, consequence from previous conversations, to locate New Zealand and Malaysia. Moises was quick to point out the locations. On the map, New Zealand and Cuba were on opposite ends of the page. “It is very far?” Not really, and I folded the ends to meet, like a globe, they got the picture. We had a good laugh and a little more understanding. I loved the look of learning innocence on their faces. Personally, I loved the interaction and physical touch like between old acquaintances. In my limited Spanish, we managed to understand Malaysian, New Zealand and Cuban issues.

Where did you learn how to speak Spanish”? I pulled out my Lonely Planet book. Immediately, Snr Golban, the oldest member here, identified himself on the cover photo! I refuted gently with a laugh as the face is hidden behind the double bass. The other guys insisted on proofing this. Snr Golban was a shy man. They held Golban’s hand and as he clinched his guitar, the distinctive crease on his hand was identical to that on the picture. Enrique, the ‘joker’ and most friendly guy quickly flipped through the book. They recognised another picture, a musical group on a street. “That’s Los Pinos”, he exclaimed excitedly. Enrique and Moises led to me meet them. I followed. On one of the streets along a block of houses and restaurants, the members of the Los Pinos played catchy salsa and son music. Soon, I had a dedicated band playing just for me. Moises, pulled out his trumpet, later joined in. Enrique couldn’t help himself and took the maracas. It was fantastic. The mood great, a sense of camaraderie and for the first time in Cuba, a sense of belonging. Enrique acknowledged me as an “amigo”, friend.

After my delightful time with the Los Pinos and my new amigos, I headed off to the Museo Historica. From the roof top, this must be one of the best views of old Trinidad and its surroundings. It was truly a magical view. The bell tower of Convento de San Francisco de Asis rose above the wonderful rustic terracotta roofs tiles and narrow cobbled stone streets. In the background, the green Escambray Mountains. To the south, a thin blue line of the Caribbean. Just below, a small local market was just beginning its day. A small morning market was just starting up. Typical Cubano dresses and an assortment of curios were on display. I could alos peep into neighbours homes from here.

Trinidad is truly a living museum. Although, it is a main tourist place, life seemed to be normal. I did not find it touristy. This made the experience more personal and exciting. Back on the picturesque streets, the locals smiled easily. Conversations is limited as language becomes an obstacle for both sides. Nevertheless, I was not holding back. Gentle whispers offered ‘priced’ Cuban cigars and horse riding opportunities into the mountains and to the former sugar plantations. In fact, Trinidad was built from the proceeds of sugar cane and tobacco cultivation in the surrounding regions. Resulting from these cultivations, West African slaves were brought in to work in the plantations. Their cultures and beliefs inherently followed them and hence, established a wonderful Afro-Cuban heritage.

Today I took a private taxi with Bruno and the other passenger, lovely Sarita, to Trinidad in Central Cuba. The highway is dated but still good. A few cultivated areas under paddy. Past Cienfuegos, huge tracts of land, some till the horizon, were cultivated with sugar cane crop only. The main roads become local roads where horse driven carts and tractors on the road were common affair. Hitch hikers stand on roadsides with raised hands clutching some cash. In these parts, public transport is slow and limited and the locals depended on getting lifts from road users. I noticed a highway police vehicle, a white Fiat, stationed on one section of the main road. We stopped for fuel along the way, at someone’s house. At a petrol pump, the price was 1.5CUC/Litre. The journey brought us to the Caribbean coast all the way to Trinidad. Sarita invited me to her house for a visit as she handed her address to me. I was a maybe as Sarita only spoke Spanish. I had no confidence with my ability to communicate. Perhaps? She went off.

It was bright and sunny when I arrived in Trinidad in early evening. I checked into my pre-booked Casa (Nilda) on 518 Calle Frank Pais | Entre Piro Guinart y Fidel Claro. It was a great room with a balcony on two storey terrace building. From here, there were great views of the blue-green mountains and the tiled roofs of the colonial houses. The rooms were airy and unlike in Habana, not cramped between blocks of apartment buildings.

The whole old town is paved with cobbled stones. Unlike the close proximity of houses in Habana, most people rested indoors. The houses are spacious. However, the furnishing, like in Habana, bulky wooden furniture with wicker or rattan base is frequently used. I loved these furniture. Iron grilled windows protected any unwelcomed intruders. It also help keep some pet dogs at arm’s length from the street. As I walked through the streets past many pastel coloured houses, there is a sense of slow pace. There is no hurry to get to anywhere. I continued walking with curiosity, intrigue and new experiences. I was like a child again filled with glee and discovering new things. Trinidad is rich with great photographic opportunities. Churches, plazas, music, historical buildings and wonderful architecture and friendly locals are condensed into this one charming old town. This colonial town has it all.

Trinidad colonial town is a UNESCO heritage colonial town oozing with character, charm and old world nostalgia. It is magnificently located between the refreshingly green Escambray Mountains, Sierra del Escambray, in the north and the inviting Caribbean coast in the south. I could not wait to explore this wonderful town. The night was lit by the full moon. I ended at a small plaza with a church bell tower. A few people relaxed here with couples having private conversations. From here, I headed straight towards Plaza Mayor, the old towns’ centrepiece. It was simple. A small garden park flanked with tall swaying palm trees and sitting areas. At the plaza’s edge, a simple concrete church, the Iglesia Parroquial de la Satissima. A series of cascading stone steps led towards Casa de la Musica. Another of pastel hued row of houses snaked up the hill.

This evening I decided to have dinner with Senora Nilda, my host at the Casa. After a lovely dinner, I headed back, in the cool of the evening, to Plaza Mayor. Music filled the air. There were a few establishments with live musicians performing the distinct Cubano sounds – salsa and son music. Mostly tourist gathered on the stone steps at Casa de la Musica. They were not going thirsty as supply of drinks was provided by boys from various bars nearby.

I wandered off away from the plaza. It was quieter with only a few people on the streets. I tried a mojito. This was not a bar but an art shop away from the main drag. Portraits of Che hung on the walls. I returned and settled on the steps of the church for the day. The full moon brightened this atmospheric old town. Looked like all the tourist in town were here. It is a great place to wind down relax and listen to melodious Cubano music.