068 CYCLE TOURING SRI LANKA

68 SRI LANKA
1045 Km – 22 Days
22 February – 16 March 2015

MAP
Photos

 

22 February – Muscat, Oman, – Colombo, Sri Lanka

The flight from Oman to Sri Lanka touched down in Colombo in the early hours of 22 February. After drawing a few rupees and buying a SIM card, I discovered Sri Lanka Air had lost my bag. The bike, nevertheless, arrived and, following a lengthy process, I left the airport, minus my luggage, and hailed a taxi into town.

Sri Lanka was love at first sight. A big smile crossed my face as the taxi headed into town, and I realised I was firmly entrenched in the land of tuk-tuks, paan, Buddhas, and monks. The weather was hot and humid, the countryside green, and the traffic slightly chaotic.

 

Colombo

The next morning, the airline phoned to say they had located the bag, and later my kit was delivered to the Clock Inn hostel, my abode of choice in Colombo. Though the bag had been opened, only the Swiss Army knife was missing. I was sure they hoped to find something more valuable than tattered cycling gear.

Once the bike was reassembled, plenty existed to be explored in the historic part of town. Unfortunately, the old market was quite impossible to cycle through. All one could do was walk the bike along the narrow lanes. Towards the end of the day, a tuk-tuk ride took me to the beachfront to watch the sunset. The sunset was unspectacular, and more fascinating was the snake charmer appearing to hypnotise a snake by playing a pungi. I didn’t even know they still existed.

 

Colombo - Bentota – 80 km

Sri Lanka is relatively small, and there was no need to race around the island. Thus, I had a relaxed start. Following breakfast, I loaded the bike and headed south toward Galle. Biking in Sri Lanka was nerve-racking, adrenalin-pumping, and sometimes pure madness.

My hands were permanently on the brakes, and I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road while weaving through the horrendous traffic, avoiding tuk-tuks, buses, cars, trucks, ox carts and, from time to time, a holy cow. The coastal route ran past numerous temples and fruit juice stands. It felt I never cleared the city limits, as the traffic never ceased.

I reached Bentota shortly past midday. The village offered plenty of accommodation, loads of food vendors, a lovely location along the river/coast, and a beach stretching for miles. Add the beautiful Galapata Vihara Temple with its maze of underground tunnels, staying was an easy choice. After locating lodging and washing my cycling clothes, a walk into town revealed plenty of food and an adaptor to fit the strange plugs in Sri Lanka.

Back at my abode, rain came bucketing down as it can only do in the tropics. I smiled, put my feet up, opened a beer and watched the rain from the veranda.

 

Bentota – Galle - 70 km

Sri Lanka was an intriguing country with several religions. Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims and Christians all seemed to get on well, and practically all villages sported a church, a Buddhist stupa, a mosque, as well as a Hindu temple. My favourite was the immensely ornate Hindu temples and I found it virtually impossible to cycle past without taking a few pictures. Then, of course, there were the ever-present Buddhist monks with their brightly coloured saffron robes of whom I snatched a few pics before reaching Galle, famous for its Old Dutch fort.

The fort was more of a citadel, and today Galle is a bustling town within the old walls. Staying within the walled area proved costly, as guesthouses had jacked up their prices by then. Luckily, I found a room at 2000 rupees for the night. Food was equally pricey, prompting me to take a walk to the main gate where traders sold snacks at 10 rupees a piece.

 

Galle – Unawatuna - 7 km

Stacks of yellow coconuts lined the roadside, ready to be chopped open with a machete. I usually stopped and after drinking the coconut water returned it to the vendor, who then cracked it open and crafted a spoon from the side so one could scrape out the coconut meat.

Soon past the coconut sellers, a sign pointed to the old hippie town of Unawatuna. So, I veered in that direction and discovered a lovely touristy village. Once in town, I immediately located digs and set out to explore the town. Unawatuna came with a lively touristy trade and, as can be expected of a touristy destination, all items were slightly pricey. Nonetheless, it remained a pleasant village with the usual traders selling clothes and jewellery, just as one can expect of Sri Lanka’s most famous beach town.

 

Unawatuna – Tangalle - 80 km

The going was slow as I found something of interest every so often, from Buddha statues to old forts and temples. I even spotted the famous Stilt fishermen of Sri Lanka, perched atop their poles. I believe these spots remain in the family for generations.

Tangalle, a paradise-like bay with cheap-looking accommodation on the beach, lured me in. The New Beach House was everything but new, but at $10 a night, the place made a perfect overnight stop, and I parked myself down, beer in hand.

 

Tangalle - Bundala National Park, Lagoon Inn - 100 km

The less-visited Bundala National Park looked interesting, and the Lagoon Inn, set in a lush garden, made it a convenient location to explore from. Unfortunately, nothing much came of visiting the park, as one couldn’t cycle into it but had to use the mandatory jeep. The jeep ride for a single person turned out a tad pricey, and I had to make do with riding the short distance along the entrance road.

 

Bundala National Park to Kataragama - 40 km

The short distance to Kataragama, the holiest town in Sri Lanka, made for an early arrival. Kataragama was a sacred place for Buddhists, Muslims and Hindus alike. Right in the city’s centre was a massive park along the banks of the Menik Ganga. All used the river for bathing, usually a quick wash before worshipping the shrines. The river was further used to do laundry and wash the occasional elephant.

The park was home to the Maha Devale shrine which sported two huge boulders outside. Pilgrims used the boulders to smash coconuts while muttering prayers. I found the activities strangely mesmerising and somewhat spiritual.

Theravada Buddhism is the religion of roughly 70% of the population of Sri Lanka. At these temples, the scent of frangipanis and incense hung thick in the air, and I watched as families brought symbolic offerings of flowers and fruit to their preferred deities. What a colourful and intriguing world.

 

Kataragama – Monaragala - 65 km

What was known as the jungle road ran from Kataragama to Monaragala. I received a few strange looks from villagers who asked if I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t sure what to fear: the people or the animals. The ride, however, turned out uneventful, and although I kept an eye out, I didn’t see elephants, let alone any dangerous ones.

As the weather was boiling, I was thankful for the countless stores where I could buy water. The coast was almost 135 kilometres away, and spotting a cheap-looking guesthouse, I offloaded my gear and enjoyed the relative coolness of a room.

 

Monaragala - Arugam Bay - 80 km

Eating the leftover spicy fried rice wasn’t the best idea as it gave me severe heartburn - I never learn.

Shortly before Arugam Bay was the Magul Maha Vihara Ruins, a 5th-century BC ruin set hardly a kilometre off the path in a densely forested area. Built by King Dhatusena (473 – 453 BC), the site was most likely part of a royal compound.

I love street food and was in my element in Sri Lanka (or Lanka, as it’s called). One could pop into any roadside stall and get a taste of the best prawn vadai the streets of Lanka had to offer. Vadai is best eaten straight from the pan while still crunchy and is generally served with a dip that includes green sambal, chutney, or curd.

At night, a plethora of street-side carts dished up kothu, made from godamba roti. The roti, a softer version of pita bread, is cut into pieces and lightly fried on a metal tray. Next, the chef adds meat and an assortment of vegetables. Then, the cook chops all the ingredients together with two metal blades. The result is a delicious collection of chopped ingredients, comprising of anything from roast chicken, seafood, sausages, egg, onion rings, veggies, a selection of unidentifiable sauces and plenty of chillies and spices.

I spent an additional day in Arugam Bay, as it was very much a swing-another-day-in-a-hammock kind of place. I swam in the lukewarm waters of the Indian Ocean and ate my way through the day. My favourite was the chickpeas with chilli, coconut, and curry leaves. It wasn’t too spicy and a delicious snack I could nibble on while walking.

 

Arugam Bay – Batticaloa - 115 km

The following day turned out to be another long, blistering hot day, and I was relieved to crawl into Batticaloa. A basic room provided a bed where the fan seemed of little help. A walk across the bridge to the centre of Batticaloa revealed plenty of food as well as an ATM - precisely what I needed. The next day was spent on the beach and investigating the Old Dutch Fort and other historical places. Finally, with the weather scorching, I retreated to my (not-so-cool) digs.

 

Batticaloa – Mutur - 115 km

From Batticaloa to Mutur, the route hugged the coast past rice paddies and sparsely populated areas. Feeling like the pied piper, I biked through tiny settlements with every giggling kid on a bicycle in tow. A few Hindu temples made for interesting exploring as they were colourful and so were the people. The oppressing heat and humid weather made me call it a day on reaching Mutur, even though a mere 30 kilometres remained to Trinco.

I’m sure my abode had never previously housed a foreign tourist, as other occupants came to look. Even the owner rocked up later, checking if all was in order. Then, he sent his house boy, as he called him, to get me a meal of fried rice from the restaurant.

 

Mutur – Uppuveli - 38 km

The next town was Trincomalee, or only Trinco. The way was flat, and I followed the coast past China Bay, with its colourful fishing boats, onto Trinco. Unfortunately, Trinco didn’t interest me much, and the beachy village of Uppuveli rolled into view six kilometres further.

The Aqua Hotel in Uppuveli sounded fancier than it was. Still, the place remained a good backpacker joint with a bar, a swimming pool, and plenty of tables and chairs right on the beach—the kind of place where one could park off for a few days. Of course, I had no intention of parking off for a few days, but I did stay an additional day.

There wasn’t a great deal more to do but chill or take a walk along the beach. The Aqua Hotel boasted a restaurant where the food, while mediocre, came at a reasonable price. The walk along the ocean was enjoyable, past rows and rows of fishing boats and fishermen bringing in their nets. Unfortunately, the area was hit hard during wartime and by the 2004 tsunami. For the most part, the houses looked like they couldn’t withstand strong winds, let alone another tsunami.

The hotel’s internet came in handy as I researched my next destination. I didn’t come up with any bright ideas, except the best would likely be to return to Thailand, from where I could cycle to Myanmar, a country I haven’t cycled before. Bangkok was rumoured to be the easiest place to obtain a Myanmar visa, and I hoped it would remain that way until my arrival.

 

Uppuveli – Anuradhapura - 120 km

Following an early morning yoga session, I hopped on the bike and pointed it in the direction of Anuradhapura. Mercifully, the road was reasonably flat with the slightest of tailwinds. Once in Anuradhapura, it took pedalling around to locate a place to bed down.

Fortunately, touts on bicycles roamed the street, looking for lost tourists to escort to a room. I usually avoid them, but they proved useful this time as they pointed out reasonably priced accommodation in one of the alleyways. At first, Anuradhapura was meant to be a one-night stop. Still, I soon realised the city was graced with a plethora of ancient relics.

The next day, I spent time in the ancient and sacred city of Anuradhapura. I understood the city was built around a cutting of Buddha’s fig tree (the Bodhi tree, or Tree of Enlightenment). Sanghamitta, a Buddhist nun who visited the island in the third century, brought the cutting to Sri Lanka.

The Kingdom of Anuradhapura flourished for 1,300 years until being invaded in 993. Today, Anuradhapura is a massive, sprawling complex of archaeological wonders and ruins built during Anuradhapura’s thousand-year rule over Sri Lanka.

The Jetavanaramaya Stupa was impressive. Built during the third century by Mahasena, historians estimate the structure initially topped 120 metres, but today it barely measures 70 metres. At the time of construction, Jetavanaramaya was certainly the third-tallest monument globally, the first two being the Egyptian pyramids. It’s said to consist of more than 90 million bricks. A British guidebook from the early 1900s calculated Jetavanaramaya to contain enough bricks to make a three-meter-high wall stretching from London to Edinburgh.

The area was captivating and appeared overgrown and overrun by monkeys. People, nevertheless, still lived in the city, and the old temples are still in use today. The most famous is the sacred Bodhi tree (mentioned above). The tree is said to be the oldest plant in the world with a known planting date. However, the tree itself was unimpressive. Much like the famous Mona Lisa, I envisaged it much larger. Instead, the tree was rather scrawny.

 

Anuradhapura – Puttalam - 80 km

The ride to Puttalam on the West Coast was uneventful. Shortly before arriving at the A3 that led to Colombo, a budget-looking abode grabbed my attention. There was no reason whatsoever to stay there, but I did anyway, if merely to extend my visit to Sri Lanka for one more day. Once I’d rinsed my cycling clothes, a short walk led me to shops and food.

 

Puttalam – Roadside Hotel - 105 km

The road was dotted with numerous colourful fruit stalls, convenient for a refreshing drink and seeking relief from the sweltering heat. Preparing these drinks was fascinating to watch. First, the orange or lime was cut in half, and the juice was squeezed into a glass. Then, a pinch of salt, water and crushed ice was added. Next, like world-class cocktail waiters, the vendor mixed the ingredients in a plastic jug, switching the drink from the glass to the plastic jar. Finally, they threw the juice from glass to pitcher quickly and precisely, catching it neatly a good metre away.

Again, I stopped at a few temples, all extremely colourful. The peafowl is native to South Asia. In Sri Lanka, virtually all temples were decorated with these brightly coloured birds, giving the temples quite a festive feel.

The day’s distance was slightly further than foreseen, not that it made any difference, as I had no intention of going all the way to Colombo. A hundred kilometres down the drag, the rain came bucketing down and I cycled to the nearest hotel.

 

Roadside hotel - Colombo - 50 km

The following day, I rode into Colombo, but the traffic was hectic. It took all my concentration to stay out of harm’s way. Eventually, I made it to the Clock Inn hostel minutes before the rain came bucketing down. Luckily, the hostel kept my bike box, saving me from finding a new one.

The next morning, the bicycle was packed and the panniers rearranged to fit into one large bag. A trip to the hairdresser made me look almost normal.

 

Colombo, Sri Lanka – Bangkok, Thailand

With a flight to Bangkok booked, I arranged a taxi and a few hours later my flight touched down in Bangkok. I found the area precisely as I remembered it from a few years ago. I headed straight to ‘Backpackerville’ where one could stroll the streets and buy deep-fried scorpions on a stick amidst colourful and ornate temples.

066 -077 CYCLE TOURING THE UAE AND OMAN

66 & 67 THE UNITED ARAB EMIRATES & OMAN
548 Kilometres – 20 Days
2 February - 22 February 2015

MAP

PHOTOS - Oman

PHOTOS - UAE

 

66 THE EMIRATE OF DUBAI

325 Kilometres – 9 Days

2 February – 22 February 2015

 

2 February - Cape Town, South Africa – Dubai, UAE (by plane)

The flight from Cape Town, South Africa to Dubai, UAE via Doha was uneventful, except for arriving in Dubai at the ungodly hour of 3 a.m. Mercifully, Anton and Andre, friends of my friend, Lois, who lived in Oman at the time, collected me from the airport. I was extremely grateful to them as Dubai was mightily expensive. If not for them, I would’ve had a somewhat pricey start to the UAE. Once at their home, our chatter continued until 5 a.m. before finally turning in for the night.

 

3 February - Dubai

As expected, following our late night, we were slow to emerge. Dubai (the biggest and most populous city in the United Arab Emirates (UAE) and the capital of the Emirate of Dubai, one of seven emirates forming the UAE) was undoubtedly the money capital of the world, and it was hard not to be in awe of all money could buy.

Almost everything was the biggest in the world, from shopping centres to aquariums. The water bus provided a unique way to explore the marina. So was roaming around the famous Dubai Mall, Golden Souq and impressive aquarium. A stroll along the downtown area worked up an appetite, and we enjoyed a late lunch watching the dancing fountains. The fountains were impressive against the backdrop of the Burj Khalifa, the highest building in the world (at the time). Then, we went home to watch a 3D movie while enjoying popcorn and wine. What a novel way to end a fabulous day in this world-famous city.

 

4 February - Dubai

Although awake slightly earlier than the previous day, it was already half-past eleven when I finished reassembling the bicycle. Our first stop was the bike shop to purchase a few bits and bobs.

Our next destination was Souq Madinat Jumeirah, where we spent a few hours sauntering through the gold and spice markets. Next, I was treated to a canal-side lunch at the Noodle House, where we had a great view of the famous Burj Al Arab Hotel. Afterwards, we visited Elvira, a friend of Anton and Andre, where we could access the top of her 83-storey building, which sports a fantastic city view. Elvira ordered pizzas, and we had a great time socialising.

 

5 February - Dubai

An additional day was spent in Dubai, and Anton and Andre drove me to the Miracle Garden. In this fantastic flower garden, the whole shebang, including the buildings, was covered by plants and flowers—a remarkable feat considering this is a desert country.

Afterwards, we drove to the world-famous Palm Island with its mega-expensive accommodation. Though immensely sought after, Palm Island wasn’t where I wanted to find myself during a tsunami. Hunger pains drove us to the excellent Carluccio restaurant offering authentic Italian cuisine.

Our next stop was at the metro station where, to my surprise, one could board a driverless train. Our driverless train scooted us off to the Spice and Gold Souq.

Towards the end of the day, Carrefour made convenient shopping to pick up the necessary ingredients as Anton planned on making a traditional Uzbek dish, plov — an extremely suitable way to wrap up another intriguing day in the city of Dubai. As always, the longer I stayed, the more interesting the city became.

 

6 February - Dubai – Al Rama - 100 km

I was all Dubai-ed out and happy to be back on the bike again. A big grin crossed my face as I cycled off doing one of my favourite things - pedalling off in a direction I wasn’t quite sure where it would lead was exciting and relaxing.

I was immensely thankful to Anton and Andre, who gave me a bed, fed me, and carted me all over Dubai. However, the warnings regarding drivers in Dubai slightly concerned me. Excellent wide highways and fast cars aren’t the best places to cycle. Therefore, I was surprised to find vehicles slowing and waving me across a busy motorway. Maybe it was simply out of sheer amazement to see a woman on a bicycle.

My route followed the dead, monotonous, and mind-numbing road to Abu Dhabi, a massive 4-lane highway. At least the numerous petrol stations were a welcome distraction and not one was passed without stopping. Long conversations with fellow travellers made it an enjoyable first day. All enquired about my origin and destination, followed by the inevitable photo shoot: leaving Dubai late and with all the stopping and chatting, the sun soon started dipping towards the horizon. Still winter, the sun disappeared at around 6 o’clock. Luckily, Al Raga sported a room that was costly but convenient.

 

7 February - Al Rama – Abu Dhabi - 40 km

The ride into Abu Dhabi, the bustling capital of the UAE’s biggest emirate, was shorter than anticipated. Shortly before the city centre, my route unexpectedly spat me out in the fast lane of a busy highway, leaving no means of getting to the opposite side. Eventually, police helped me across, and two kind Samaritans stopped and gave me a ride into town. It was a good thing too, as the police didn’t want to let me go, and only once they saw all of us in the car did they drive off.

The GPS on my phone didn’t work without a SIM card, and being my only form of navigation, I searched for a local SIM. Returning to my abode, I grabbed a bag of falafel and a few samosas for only a few dirhams.

 

8 February - Abu Dhabi – Ramah rest area - 125 km

My first stop was at the imposing Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque to snatch a few photos. Afterwards, I pointed the bike in the direction of Oman. Initially, my plan was to cycle halfway to the border, but I couldn’t find a suitable camping spot.

Again, nothing significant happened, and again, service stations broke the monotony. These stations made filling my water bottles and buying snacks convenient, as chewing while riding kept me occupied. As a result, I slinked into the Ramah rest area long past sunset and in darkness.

The thoughtful gift from Andre, a solar-powered flashing light, proved incredibly useful. Its automatic activation in low-light conditions made it the perfect companion for cycle touring, providing just the right illumination when needed.

 

9 - 10 February - Ramah rest area – Al Ain - 60 km

The ride to Al Ain was straight into the wind, but there was nothing one could do. I put my head down, adjusted the bicycle gears, and soldiered on. Truly, nothing happened - even the service stations weren’t equipped with shops selling snacks or drinks. Then, out of the blue, a stranger stopped and gave me a small souvenir. I was completely gobsmacked, and I wonder if I ever thanked him for his kindness.

The oasis town of Al Ain rolled into view shortly beyond midday. My early arrival left me enough time to investigate the nearby Al Ain Oasis which sported a labyrinthine of cobbled streets. The entire area was walled and fitted with an ancient underground irrigation system dating back thousands of years. The nearly 150,000 date palms within the walled area made it a relaxed and shady meander. Falafel and samosas from the cafeteria, once again, made a quick meal.

Al Ain offered several places of interest and the city was a great place to spend the following day. The Palace Museum was fascinating, and so was the old fort. Al Jahili Fort was constructed in 1891 as a fort and a summer residence for Sheikh Zayed the First. I believed it customary in those days for Abu Dhabi leaders to escape the summer's coastal humidity in favour of Al Ain's dryer climate. The oasis, offering plenty of water, must have added to its popularity.

Carrefour supermarket was a great place to stock up. As the camel market was right behind the shopping centre, the market was easy to explore before returning to my wonderfully comfortable abode. For the third night in a row, supper was falafel and more samosas before turning in.

 

 

67 OMAN

223 Kilometres – 11 Days

11 February – 22 February 2015

 

11 February - Al Ain, UAE – Sobar, Oman - 110 km

Certain days were more challenging to get going than others, and this day was one of them. After packing up and a cup of coffee, the time was already past 10h00 before I got underway. The Omani border crossing was 10 kilometres away and a leisurely cycle through the town of Al Ain.

Once on the Omani side, my first stop was at an ATM, then a quick breakfast before picking up a new SIM card. As a result, it was past 12h00 before I headed into Oman and over the Hajar Mountains toward Muscat. Once out of the city and in the desert, the road became a shimmering mirage. Besides barren mountains and a few camels, the scenery remained unchanged. Oddly, the Omani border was 50 kilometres further, making it a sizeable no-man’s land.

By the time I received my entry stamp, it was well past midday, and I had covered only a minimal distance. I filled my water bottles and headed for the hills. Like the previous day, the weather was windy but the wind didn’t bother me, and a strange peacefulness prevailed. Sunset was between  6 and 6.30 p.m. and, soon afterwards, darkness fell. To my delight, streetlights lined the entire road.

I was a bit taken aback on reaching Sobar as I didn’t envisage Sobar quite as substantial. The traffic was horrendous, and the roadworks and detours scared me off the road. A taxi driver pointed me to a nameless hotel which suited me fine. Once in a room, I cooked pasta, but being a terrible cook, the pasta was awful, and I should’ve settled for falafel instead.

 

12 February - Sobar – The Millennium Resort - 113 km

My friend Lois had arranged to meet at the upmarket Millennium Hotel and Resort for a drink. With a cold beer in mind, I ground into the wind until I finally crawled into the resort shortly after 6h00 p.m. Lois was already there and, to my delight, I learned she had organised a room. It’s good to have friends.

A great deal of babbling took place over a drink, as we had years of catching up to do. The jabbering continued over supper and until late in the night. A few beers were consumed before retreating to our luxury room overlooking the Gulf of Oman.

 

13 February - The Millennium Resort – Seeb

We had a relaxing start to the day, followed by a massive breakfast overlooking the Gulf of Oman, and was midday before we eventually headed out. Lois persuaded me to load the bike in the car and join her for a sightseeing ride to Muscat.

Our first stop was at Al Sawadi, a beautiful beach where boats departed to the nearby island for a day of leisure. From Al Sawadi, we resumed our slow drive to Barka, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous “bull-butting”. Regrettably, the event wasn’t taking place until much later. Lunch was in true Arabic style and then onto Seeb, where Lois lived.

 

14 - 20 February - Muscat and surrounding areas

Lois hauled me out of bed and announced we were driving up the mountain. The drive was spectacular and featured hazy views far in the distance, and I was grateful for being in a car and not on a bicycle. A long, steep walk down the mountain brought us to an old, abandoned village where well-preserved mud-brick houses clung desperately to the mountainside. Then, a hot, sweaty walk finally spat us out at the car.

Later, we had refreshments at an upmarket hotel offering spectacular views of the mountains and the small villages far below. One could barely make out the tiny, luminous green terraces used for farming.

We then proceeded along the nearly vertical mountain road to Nizwa, sporting an imposing fort and fascinating souq. This huge souq sold the whole caboodle, from vegetables to livestock and almost anything in-between, from beautiful pottery products to antique-looking jewellery, and even guns.

Back in Muscat, the days came and went, and I spent my time mostly sampling all of Oman’s exotic dishes. The hop-on-hop-off Big Bus city tour around Muscat was money well spent as one got to see all Muscat had to offer in a matter of a day. In the process, I met another cyclist biking around Oman, mainly following the Oman Cycle Tour.

Soon, the 19^th arrived and Lois took the day off work, loaded the car, and we made our way south along the coast. The landscape was typically desert-like and dotted by unexpected little gems. Our first stop was the Bimmah Sinkhole, also known as Hawiyat Najm or The Falling Star. According to legend, the crater was a result of a meteor. The experts, however, have a less romantic story, claiming natural causes of dissolving limestone formed the hole.

Our next stop was in Sur with its famous dhow building yard. The area was old and traditional where no one referred to a sketch or blueprint. But, surprisingly, in this modern age of technology, dhows were still handmade, a process that appeared slow and labour-intensive.

Our day’s destination was the turtle reserve at Ras al-Jinz. The night was spent at a conveniently located hotel, a short walk from the famous turtle breeding ground. I don’t know what I expected. Still, it wasn’t seeing giant, pre-historic-looking turtles slowly making their way out of the water. Mesmerised, we watched them dig metre-deep holes with their short fins. Then, very slowly, they placed themselves over the hole and laid roughly 100 perfectly round golf-ball-sized eggs. Once done, they meticulously closed everything up, but this wasn’t the end of their duties. They then dug a fake hole next to the real one to mislead predators. Only once all was done did they drag their weary bodies back to the ocean — poor things.

We returned to the beach in the morning to see if we could spot more turtles. Unfortunately, we only came upon one returning to the water after her busy night on the beach. Still, we spotted newly hatched ones appearing from their sandy nest and scurrying to the water’s edge. The whole process was captivating - what a fantastic experience. Thank you, Lois.

After breakfast, Lois and I headed inland, stopping at a wadi high up in the mountains for lunch. Next, we headed to our beautiful desert camp—a haven amidst the arid landscape. The camp, adorned with rustic reeds, is nestled in the heart of the desert, surrounded by magnificent sand dunes.

 

21-22 February - Muscat

Too soon it all ended, and it was time to return to Muscat. Once in Muscat, I packed my belongings, and Lois drove me to the airport for my flight to Sri Lanka, my next destination. En route to the airport, we had time to have one more memorable meal consisting of a camel-meat burger, a first for me.

I cannot thank Lois enough for all she did. I had a most enjoyable time and saw more than I would ever have seen. She also covered all expenses. I will forever be indebted to her.

CYCLE TOURING CUBA

CUBA

 527 Kilometres – 29 Days

29 October – 26 November 2014

Photos

29 October - Montego Bay, Jamaica – Havana, Cuba - By plane

My obvious next destination from Jamaica was Cuba, barely 400 kilometres north of Jamaica. The most economical flight to Havana, Cuba, nevertheless went via Panama, a relatively long 2,000-kilometre detour.

The taxi ride to Montego Bay airport couldn't have been more than five kilometres. Mercifully, the airport had a wrapping service as I doubted whether my homemade bike box, held together with duct tape, would last.

Right from the start, Cuba was a different cup of tea. The first thing noticed was the abundance of space on the plane, quite a rarity in this day and age. One could even spread out to enjoy a little snooze before descending into Cuba. Approaching Cuba, a highly unusual sunset greeted us and one could see well-organised farmlands below (I guess they were tobacco fields).

Clearing customs and immigration was exceptionally easy. Afterwards, I excitedly hailed a taxi to Hostal Peregrino, situated in an old building in Centro Havana. You can imagine my surprise when I rang the doorbell and a key, tied to a string, was lowered from the window above. This marked the start of a remarkable visit to fascinating Cuba. Unfortunately, the hotel didn't receive my email, and all rooms were fully booked; luckily, their neighbour still had space. It, in fact, turned out more convenient with the bike. The family was highly welcoming but, regrettably, only spoke limited English and me even less Spanish. The place was comfortable with a fan, air-con, private bathroom and even a little bar fridge.

Most confusing was the Cuban money. Cuba had two currencies: CUC (1 CUC = 1 US$) and pesos (Moneda Nacional MN) (1 CUC = 25 pesos). The accommodation and taxi fare were quoted in CUC and I guessed it standard practice to quote tourists in CUC.

 

30 - 31 October - Havana

Following a breakfast of fruit and scrambled eggs, I set out, camera in hand, to explore Havana, referred to as "La Habana". As always, nothing was as envisaged, and not all the media reports are accurate.

The 50-year-old American trade embargo was still in place, but that didn't mean Cuba didn't trade with other countries. Havana had a fair number of new vehicles; the taxi from the airport was a brand-new Toyota van. Virtually all cars, however, date back to the 1960s. Of course, not all buildings were old and falling apart either. Still, the old ones were far more photogenic, and one, consequently, got the idea that the entire country was falling apart.

Investigating the old part was best done on foot as the old quarters were blessed with an ensemble of old pre-communist era buildings. The best part of the day was spent admiring these old buildings and exploring the narrow lanes.

I would have been foolish not to drive along the Malecon sea drive in an old convertible, and thought the only thing missing was a bottle of rum.

The next day was spent much the same, only in a different part where gracious old buildings, several already restored, lined the streets. My walkabout took me past colourful cigar-chewing ladies, horse carts and bicycle taxis (not only for the use of tourists). I passed the most realistic human statue ever encountered; made even more surprising by his placement next to an identical statue. Only donating money in his collection box made him move.

Giggling, I made my way along narrow lanes, where front doors led directly onto pavements and where salsa music emanated from about every doorway. Music, dance and art were everywhere in Havana, and practically everyone could play an instrument.

The waterfront made a perfect spot to snap a few pics and grab a bite to eat at sunset. With such an abundance to see, one could easily spend a few days in Havana. I was however keen to get going and planned to return to Havana for a few days before flying out.

 

1 November - Havana – Bahia Honda - 132 km

The section between Havana and Bahia Honda made less exciting cycling. Still, I was delighted to be back on my trusted old iron horse (or iron camel). The mild headwind encountered made the going slow but kept me cool at the same time.

Though the map indicated the road as an "Autopista", the surface was in poor condition and the going slow. The best part of the day was spent cycling past farmlands where farmers still used oxen to plough the land, and the horse and cart remained in daily use. The aroma from a roadside "panaderia" lured me in, and freshly baked rolls made a good snack while snaking along narrow country lanes. A wave of gratitude and joy washed over me for the opportunity to cycle in this fascinating country.

In Bahia Honda, a "hospedaje" owned by Beysi and her family was a real treat. They fed me copious amounts of food, and in broken Spanish, I tried communicating, letting them know where I was from and where I was going - not that I knew exactly where that was.

 

2 - 3 November - Bahia Honda – Vinales - 85 km

After a healthy breakfast of fruit juice, fruit, coffee, egg, and bread, I left my generous family. The bumpy route continued along a minor path, filled with cigar-chewing Cubans on horse carts or ox wagons. As the previous day, the going was slow as the route slowly led uphill along the Vinales valley. The valley was fertile, and my path, hence, littered with fruit stalls where offers, not only of papaya juice but also pineapples, were received, none of which were refused. It felt like I'd a constant smile as my path took me past tobacco plantations and vast limestone karsts until, eventually, reaching Vinales.

Vinales was touristy with literally hundreds of places advertising rooms to let and almost the same number of restaurants, quite a feat for such a small settlement. People came to Vinales to explore nearby Vinales National Park and the valley that has been declared a UNESCO site. A 100 million years ago underground rivers ate away at the limestone bedrock, creating vast caverns. Eventually, the roof collapsed, leaving only the eroded walls we see today.

Finding accommodation was effortless, and the one located was a large and comfortable abode. The establishment had a restaurant that served delicious vegetable soup (and, of course, a "Cristal", the Cuban beer). Plans were on staying in Vinales the following day. Therefore, it was late before falling asleep to a salsa beat in the far-off distance.

The next morning was spent investigating a nearby cave and a tobacco farm where some of Cuba's finest cigars were still hand-rolled. The cave was interesting and said an ancient indigenous dwelling. After a short walk, I came to an underground river where motorboats took one the rest of the way.

By evening, I located an  internet café and uploaded a few pics before falling too far behind. The internet was expensive but far worse was the long queue waiting to use the only seven machines in town. By the time my turn came, I’d scarcely started and was told they were closing.

More frustrating than the long queue at the internet was the hissing sound from the touts. They had a habit of hissing like snakes when wanting your attention, quite annoying, but this was Cuba where things worked differently.

 

4 November - Vinales – San Cristobal - 110 km

Departing my comfortable abode, I followed my nose in an easterly direction, unsure where the road led. The area wasn't especially picturesque and I pushed onwards until reaching San Cristobal. A headwind prevailed all day and hence a relief to reach the tiny village of San Cristobal. Whether the town would offer accommodation was doubtful but, sure enough, it did. The abode had a mirror on the ceiling and I surmised it might not have been intended for a single person.

Still, the family was typical Cuban with trinkets displayed in the cabinet, and photos in old frames hanging askew on the wall. The Cubans had the same family values as the South Americans. Family members and friends were thus constantly popping in, resulting in an endless flow of comings and goings. San Cristobal was a pleasant rural area, nearly like a big farm, where there always seemed a cock crowing and a dog barking in the distance.

 

5 November - San Christobal – San Antonio de los Banos - 85 km

Records showed 24% of the population was of mixed race, 65% White, 10% Black and 1% Asian. Of course, one could easily question these figures as I barely ever saw “White” people in Cuba. Still, then again, race is very much a social construct. If you ask me, the old model for classifying people goes back to the 18th century and is slightly outdated. The so-called “White” people were, obviously, of Spanish descent and many French immigrants who came to Cuba in the early part of the 19th century. Even so, it remained surprising to see blond-haired women in these tiny villages who looked kind of out of place. Maybe I’d been in Jamaica too long.

The way to San Antonio headed past small communities where people went about their daily business. People seemed continuously busy fixing things, and the word “resolver” was easily the most used word in Cuba. These settlements had numerous hole-in-the-wall type shops selling bread rolls, juice or pizzas, all at a few pesos.

The plan was to head to Batabane where one could get a ferry to the nearby Isla de la Juventud. The diving was particularly good off the west coast of the island, but halfway through the day I learned getting a ferry ticket in Batabane could be challenging as tickets were generally sold in Havana as a bus-and-boat combo.

At Guira de Melena, a change of plans made me head the 13 kilometres north to San Antonio instead. San Antonio had a few interesting things to see. Still, I missed the town and landed at a hotel along the highway outside of town. This wasn’t a major disaster and I stayed put. Upon returning to my place, the restaurant served good food and discovered the only English TV channel showed the American election. What a circus! The Cubans must have thanked their lucky stars; they didn’t have to deal with such a spectacle – it could have been precisely why authorities broadcasted it.

 

6 November - San Antonio de los Banos – Nueva Paz - 90 km app

The days were slowly getting a rhythm of their own as I biked up and down hills, through the countryside past tiny settlements, all (seemingly) identical with horse carts, hole-in-the-wall pastry shops, the odd peso pizza joint and “refrescos” stand, where one could fill your bottle with juice at a mere three pesos.

Towards the end of the day, and reaching Nueva Paz, the map didn’t show another village apart from tiny Nueva Paz. To the villagers’ surprise, a foreigner cycled into their little town enquiring about a casa. More surprised than the villagers, I discovered the village amid a festival. I wasn’t sure what the celebration was about, but I assumed the event was important as the only two places with rooms to rent were full.

A hospitable family invited me in, and as can be expected, my stay turned out quite a novelty. Casa particulars or homestays catered to travellers and generally consisted of separate quarters with an en-suite bathroom – all extremely luxurious compared to typical family life in Cuba. Staying in a Cuban home was totally different. Firstly, someone had to give up their bed, and there wasn’t a great deal of privacy as the bedroom had two entrances. One was blocked off with a curtain and led to the dining room. The other one led to the lounge/kitchen area and was fitted with a rickety concertina door. The bathroom consisted of a bucket shower, which I didn’t mind. Toilet paper was far too luxurious, and good ol’ newspaper did the trick. A meal, large enough to feed an army, was prepared and encouraged by the family, I ate far too much. Embarrassingly, I was fed first, and the family only ate afterwards. I hoped it wasn’t their only food.

The family consisted of a mum, dad, grandmother (whom they took care of) and a dwarf daughter. This is only mentioned as it came as a surprise to spot at least three dwarfs in Jamaica (considered excessive for such a small island). The family was super kind, and I regretted not being fluent in Spanish, but at least I could tell them where I was from and showed them the map of my cycle route. They were stunned one could do such a distance on a bicycle (at times, I am equally stunned).

The daughter’s room became mine. Fortunately, the room had a regular bed; only the mirror was tricky. She later offered me the use of her soap, powder and other cosmetics - too sweet. She was immensely proud of having these items. In Cuba, any cosmetic items, including soap and creams, was valuable, and beggars typically asked for soap and lotions instead of money.

 

7-8 November - Nueva Paz – Playa Larga - 100 app km

The way to Playa Larga was along a highway, and the road surface was significantly better, making effortless cycling. Not a great deal was happening, except a few restaurants which made a welcome distraction. Eventually, I stuck the iPod in my ears and turned off to Playa Larga.

Larga was one of the two beaches invaded by the US in April 1961. One could see monuments and signboards keeping memories of the revolution alive. Playa Larga had a bunch of casa particulars lining the shore and, as a result, not challenging to find a bed. The casa chosen provided food, and thus not necessary to move one step; all I had to do was sit on the veranda and watch the bay.

The following morning was laundry day after which I took off searching for a shop selling hair stuff as I lost my comb. Losing things became my superpower, and I was particularly good at it. Instead of a comb, a diving shop was spotted and I was just in time to join them for two dives. Teaming up with two very pleasant and experienced divers, we happily plunged into the crystal-clear waters of the Bay of Pigs. It turned out two beautiful dives, and I was incredibly pleased with the opportunity. The dive was an easy shore entry. About 30 metres offshore was a massive drop-off that reportedly bottomed out at a depth of 300 metres. I didn’t check! Visibility was crystal clear, which made peering over the edge, into the abyss immensely exciting. Fantastic stuff, all at CUC25.

The Bay of Pigs (known as “the Bay of Pigs fiasco”) had a fascinating history. The Bay was where mighty America tried to invade tiny Cuba in 1961. One thousand four hundred CIA-trained men, financed by a US$13 million military budget, landed in Playa Giron intending to wipe out the Cuban Air Force. Castro had been forewarned and had moved his Air Force the previous week. To make matters worse, the Cubans sunk the two US supply ships leaving 1,400 men stranded on the beach. The US government didn’t rescue the poor stranded soldiers: 114 were killed. Later the remaining soldiers were captured and traded at US53$ million worth of food and medicine. A genuine David and Goliath tale, if you ask me.

 

9 November - Playa Larga – Playa Giron - 34 km

At my casa, I met two cyclists who’d come from Cienfuegos. They informed me of a considerably shorter coastal route between Cienfuegos and Playa Larga but, in the process, they picked up 15 punctures between them. I, there and then, decided to take the roundabout way (approx. 130 kilometres). Not being in any hurry, a slow cycle led along the coast to Playa Giron where an “all-inclusive” resort at CUC42 made comfortable digs. Albeit more costly than the CUC20 casas, the price included—three meals and all drinks, from beer to cocktails.

The resort was a strange place, about the size of a small village, right upon the beach but neglected. Only a few bungalows were occupied, the lawn was knee-high, and scarcely anything appeared in working order. The food was delicious and consisted of a buffet lunch, dinner, and breakfast; the problem is one could only eat until one had enough. However, the two genuinely nice cocktails made up for the lack of other facilities.

 

10 November - Playa Giron – Cienfuegos - 70 km

Signboards indicated 94 kilometres to Cienfuegos. The going was effortless as the majority of the day was spent biking along a low-lying and swampy area where the road was in good condition. Now and again, one had to give way to herds of cows or cycle on the opposite side of the road as half the way was used to dry rice or wheat. My odometer wasn’t working but I guessed I travelled about 40 kilometres until reaching a new highway, which indicated Cienfuegos was only 30 kilometres further. I’m always happy about a shortcut and arrived in Cienfuegos earlier than anticipated.

A good few people lured one to their casa particular, and it was a pleasure to give them my business. The prices were all identical, and the accommodation almost similar. The lady where I bunked down seemed pleased she had a guest and went out of her way to put the bike away and made things as pleasurable as possible.

An evening stroll along the waterfront and around the central plaza revealed hives of activities. In the process, I met Jenn and Jeff from Canada (travelling by bicycle). They mentioned they saw me in Vinales. I’m impressed by people who can identify one off the bike without the disguise of a cap and shades. How incredibly observant of them.

 

11-12 November - Cienfuegos – Trinidad - 80 km

I woke to the clip-clop of horse’s hooves, had a hearty breakfast and hopped on the bike to Trinidad, Cuba’s best-preserved colonial town. At first, the route was slightly hilly, but levelled out on reaching the coast, and it became a pleasant ride past scenic beaches and bays.

One meets the most likeable people during one's travels, and this day was no different. I stopped to chat with a lovely couple from Switzerland (if I remember correctly).

Trinidad (a UNESCO World Heritage Site) was swarming with tourists and tour buses. The narrow cobblestoned streets could hardly accommodate all the busses, bicycle taxis and horse carts. Hundreds of casa particulars lined the streets. Soon, I was nestled in a roomy house with a great veranda leading to an enclosed backyard.

A quick shower and I were strolling, camera in hand, together with countless other tourists down the narrow lanes of this 500-year-old Spanish colonial settlement.

In the morning, I emerged to the hustle and bustle of people peddling wares from bicycles in the street outside. In a sing-song way, they announced whatever they had to sell. I hurried to the window and smiled at the scene of brightly coloured buildings, cobblestone streets and old men selling bread from bicycles calling “El pan, el pan!” This was Cuba at its absolute best.

 

13 - 14 November - Trinidad – Sancti Spiritus - 70 km

My path followed the Valle de Los Ingenios, where sugar was grown in the earlier years. Today, one can still see a few of that brutal era's old sugar mills, slave quarters, and manor houses. Unfortunately, the Manaca Iznaga with its 44-metre-high tower, used for watching the slaves, had too many tour busses to my liking, and I didn’t climb to the top; I only took a few pics and departed in a hurry. Nevertheless, albeit several attractions were scattered about, I kept going due to my first experience.

Sancti Spiritus, the oldest European settlement in Cuba, turned out a hidden gem. Smaller than Trinidad, and less visited, the village had several lovely, old buildings from the colonial era. However, as the town had fewer buildings than Trinidad, almost all were renovated and strolling the charming centre was a pleasure.

I came down with a stomach bug during the night and spent nearly the entire night hanging over the toilet bowl. When daylight broke, I was weak and tired and stayed in bed. As the day progressed, I slowly recovered and by lunchtime could face a cup of tea and a plate of fruit. Luckily, Hostal Paraiso was comfortable and the owners accommodating.

 

15 November - Sancti Spiritus – Ciego de Avila - 76 km

Feeling considerably better, although weak (seeing I only had a plate of fruit the previous day), I loaded my mobile home to cycle the short distance to Ciego de Avila. The ride came with a mild headwind, but I caught the slipstream of a horse cart, and we slowly headed toward Ciega de Avila. By the time I stopped to fill up with water, I assumed I’d lost them but soon caught up. There was a considerable amount of laughing and waving, and I’d a distinct feeling they waited.

Ciego de Avila was a tiny place with a few old historical buildings. Unfortunately, a hotel in dire need of TLC was home that night, and even without hot water in the shower, one couldn’t beat the price.

While meandering the streets in the cooler night air, I passed a theatre filled to the brim. The coolest thing was theatregoers still made use of horse-and-cart taxis to and from the theatre. How cool is that?

Still not feeling 100% but having to eat something, I purchased a five-peso pizza, which, as indicated by the price, wasn’t large (US$1 – 25 pesos).

 

16 November - Ciego de Avila – Moron - 40 km

Even though tired, I loaded up and cycled north to Moron, a small town en route to Cayo Coco. I’d no intention of going to Cayo Coco as it was understood the city was packed with all-inclusive resorts. Unfortunately, the weather came in and started raining, which turned out not the typical 30-minute storm. As a result, I arrived in Moron sopping wet but mercifully uncovered a surprisingly large amount of casa particulars.

The Maron was a typical Cuban town. The main road was lined with old colonial buildings, a central plaza, and a few hole-in-the-wall eateries. Yet, surprisingly the town had a grand-looking railway station built in 1923, complete with horse carriages waiting to cart passengers to and from the station; one could have sworn it was 1923. A walk along the candy-coloured colonnade pavement, with music coming from open doorways, was typical Cuban. Old bicycles were leaning haphazardly against walls, and a good few pay-phones were still mounted upon the walls. It felt as if caught in a time warp and I loved every single moment of it.

By evening, villagers placed chairs outside doorways and watched the world go by while chatting with neighbours. What a social bunch the Cubans were. Street vendors magically appeared selling cake and popcorn – one can’t fault a country where cake is considered street food.

 

17 November - Moron – San Jose del Largo - 60 km app

I turned my bike in the direction of Havana, and while a good few days remained on my visa, the time had come to move in the direction of the capital. I read that San Jose had a spa and searched for these magical baths.

The mild tailwind made pleasurable cycling and an early arrival at San Jose del Largo. The spa was slightly dilapidated as the majority of these types of places were. Still, I spent a good hour in the bath, which consisted of a huge undercover one. The pool was right over the spring's eye and had a sandy bottom where one could see the water bubbling up from a tiny volcano.

Afterwards, I met two cyclists from Canada. They had been travelling a year and planned on cycling at least one more. We had a meal together and shared a bottle of wine, compliments of my hosts.

 

18 November - San Jose del Largo – Remedios - 70 km

Mercifully, I’d rid myself of the stomach bug and the day became effortless riding to Remedios. Remedios was one of the first villages founded by the Spanish way back in 1513 and I bedded down at a place right next to the central plaza. There wasn’t much to do in this tiny village besides discovering old buildings scattered around the square.

I’d much time on my hands and, therefore, spent it using the internet before having a bite to eat. Doing the laundry was a mistake as it started raining during the night and nothing was quite dry by morning.

 

19 November - Remedios – Quemado de Guines - 110 km app

Packing my still damp laundry, I headed south. The intention was to go to Santa Martha, but I couldn’t face another touristy town and turned off and cycled along the coast. I half regretted the decision when the rain came; rain which continued the rest of the day. It rained so hard that water couldn’t drain fast enough, and my path soon turned into a mini river. With no reason or place to stop, I proceeded until reaching an area with accommodation. People pointed me to a “hotel” but it had no rooms, only a restaurant, even though it was called a hotel.

In bucketing rain, and sloshing through ankle-deep water, accommodation was located. Still, with digs rented by the hour, I’d to wait until the occupants were done. In the meantime, a restaurant made a good spot to while away the time; besides that, I was starving. Upon my return, the room was available, and I could hang out my wet clothes and change into something dry.

 

20 November - Quemado de Guines – Hotel Elguea and spa - 60 km

As my abode was an hourly joint, no breakfast was included. Still, I was given coffee and a few bananas before getting underway. It rained the entire way, and on reaching the turnoff to a hot spring, turning in was a no-brainer and I headed the eight kilometres down the path, where I arrived soaked to the bone.

The government-run hotels were huge but usually without anyone in sight. Goats roaming the garden looked up in surprise at someone disturbing the peace.

The bedroom was huge and comfortable, and I couldn’t complain. However, the thermal baths were in a separate building and quite hot (approx. 50°C). Hungry and with the restaurant prices reasonable, I first had lunch before entering the baths. The soak was short as the water was far too hot.

Later I repacked my panniers and with little else to do had a beer or two ahead of supper. This time a few more people were in the dining room as workers from the electrical company who worked in the area stayed at the hotel. Even though the restaurant had a menu, they only had one choice, similar to lunch: only chicken instead of beef, everything else was identical.

According to legend, a slave who had contracted a severe skin disease was banished by his owner to what is known as Banos de Elguea. Later, the man returned cured entirely, and a bathhouse was built on the spot.

 

21 November - Hotel Elguea and spa – Varadero - 110 km

Though it rained throughout the night, by morning the weather had cleared. The route was flooded, but a tailwind made pleasurable riding. The touristy beach town of Varadero was situated along a narrow peninsula along Cuba’s north coast and littered with hotels and casa particulars.

Sadly, the weather never cleared, and thus no enjoying Varadero’s famous 20-kilometre-long beach. So instead, I went in search of food, and returning, rain made me rush back before becoming completely soaked. Varadero was only 140 kilometres from Havana, and I was hoping the weather would be kind to me the next day.

 

22 November - Valadero – Playa Hermosa - 120 km

To my dismay, I emerged, not to the tip-tip of raindrops upon the roof, but rain streaming down, more resembling a tap left open. Loading up was with more care than usual, making sure all my stuff would make it through yet one more rainy day. Thank goodness, the rain had eased when I reached the corner shop to have a cup of coffee and the (by then) ever-familiar toasted cheese sandwich.

A tailwind made riding a pleasure, and I caught up to two cyclists from the Netherlands holidaying in Cuba. This was only their second day of riding, and they were taking it easy. We chatted as we pedalled along and, as they were heading to Playas del Este, I followed suit. Then, in the dying moments of the day, it started spitting, and I was happy to call it a day.

Villa Playa Hermosa wasn’t much of a villa but was cheap at CUC13 per person. My room had no hot water, and the TV didn’t work. The place was popular with people from Habana; the music was going ten to a dozen and guests were already far into the rum by the time I arrived.

 

23-25 November - Playa Hermosa – Havana - 25 km

The ride into Havana was short, and, mercifully, it didn’t rain. On arrival at my casa I discovered them fully booked. I considered this a misunderstanding as I booked a room before heading out. The misunderstanding was cleared up when I showed them the booking. All’s well that ends well. I’d two days in Havana to repack my panniers and bike for the long and roundabout flight to Africa, where I intended to spend time with my ageing mum before continuing my quest.

My visit to Cuba was fascinating and it was interesting to talk with Cubans as they were a highly educated nation. In fact, Cuba had about nine physicians per 1,000 people, whereas Africa only had approximately 0.2 doctors per 1,000, a substantial difference. Albeit economically poor, I thought they were culturally rich as theatres were well supported and it appeared everyone could play an instrument.

 

26 November - Havana, Cuba – Montego Bay, Jamaica - By Plane

There surely couldn’t be anything more inconvenient than a 5.30 a.m. flight which usually meant a wakeup call of around 2.30 a.m. When flying with the bike, I preferred getting to the airport early, allowing enough time to have the bike wrapped and pay the bike fee, generally at an obscure office stuck away at the far side of the airport.

My casa owner assured me he arranged a taxi van to the airport. At 2.45 a.m. I tiptoed downstairs and was relieved to find the taxi already there.

Alas, the taxi turned out not a van but an old Mazda hatchback. One could only laugh at the bizarreness of it all as the bicycle was half hanging out the back. I giggled uncontrollably all the way to the airport. The shockless old Mazda splattered, hiccupped and farted black fumes as we bounced over potholes in the airport direction. I feared the bike could slide right out of its (by now) sad-looking box. Not only was the box made from two boxes stuck together in Jamaica and held together with an abundance of duct tape, but it was by then, terribly out of shape and hardly capable of holding a bicycle. Fortunately, we arrived on time and with the bike still in the box.

While the airport had a wrapping service, it took convincing the operator wrapping a bike box could be done. Eventually, the whole shebang was booked in. With everything done, I could relax ahead of my long flight to South Africa. The plan was to visit Cape Town for a month or so before heading to the Arabian Peninsula to cycle a few of the countries on that exceedingly dry peninsula. With this came to an end my cycle ride through the Americas. A journey which took me from Ushuaia in southern Argentina to Seattle, USA and across the country to Boston, with the islands of Jamaica and Cuba thrown in for good measure.