Playa Santa Lucia

I slept in my "sex" room in a casa particulare in Camaguey city last night and the plan is to go to the beach in "Playa Santa Lucia" today. I am now standing at the spot where a truck would have to pass that way but after waiting for an hour and having asked several drivers it is all uncertain.

A number of local tourists have already entered an "expensive" taxi and I trudge around, questioning and looking around. An hour later I'm lucky and I step into the back of the truck to take a seat on the wooden benches. I almost fall asleep in the truck - it is hot and I slept only a short time. When we get closer to "Playa" I try to orient myself because it has to be a 20 km long bay and I do not feel like going to a casa kilometers away with that big bag on my back walking in the heat.

Yesterday I heard at the little office of the campismo that I, as a foreigner, can not go to sleep at the campsite. But that there are indeed casa's where I can sleep as a foreign tourist, which is contradicted in m a travel guide. What I see from the truck is a long strip with large hotels (or resorts) on one side and on the other side salt flats with some green. It does not look really nice and I hope that I made a good choice to go here today. I think it's my only beach experience in Cuba.

The truck is almost empty when I ask my local neighbor if we still go to the center and if there is a terminal. On both questions he answers "si" and I hope he is right. We stop, but there is no question of a terminal. It is a piece of road where you can turn around with a residential area behind it.

There is a fast food restaurant "Rapido" which I also encountered in my travel guide and I decide to walk directly into the residential area to ask for a casa. I am sent to a house, but I see from afar that it is only for Cubans because of het red sign (instead of blue for tourists). I knock on and I understand that the control is fierce and the man does not dare to let me in and stay.  

He sends me to the budget hotel and I go that way with my knees kinking, looking at the forest a bit further on (maybe I have to sleep in my tent tonight because of high prices). I ask if there is still a place and that question is (of course) answered yes - then the prices and I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear 19 CUC. And this is also including breakfast. I immediately say yes and fill in the papers and take a look at my room who looks fantastic. 

Behind my hotel is a narrow sand path leading to the beach. Under a palm tree sits a coconut seller and a girl. We talk abit before I continue my walk – I want to see the beach. On the left the beach is closed by a gate leading to a long wooden pier. Here you can rent canoes, boats and for example surfboards. So I am obliged to walk to the right where some tourists are sunbathing under the cover of some new straw shacks.

Because it is not quite what I am looking for, I walk further along the azure blue water and the beautiful white sand. After passing some brand new hotels with big pools where Western tourists are I come on a wider stretch of beach where also a wooden barrack is built that serves as a bar. I walk up the terrace to ask a girl (like so many people from Canada) how much a loungebench costs per day. She answers that she has bought a package and that everything is inclusive. On the board behind I read all sorts of cocktails but no prices.

At the bar I ask the woman behind the counter how much a Santa Lucia special costs and she starts to poor one in. She answers that everything is inclusive and asks in which room I stay. I answer honestly that I don’t have a room here and now I see that all people here with orange bands around. I thank the woman for the free cocktail and sit on the terrace sipping my delicious glass. Then I will try to get a free loungebench and after drinking my glass I choose a bed from a bit on the edge of this seemingly private beach. Of course I choose one that’s a bit on the side and enjoy my time in the shade of a palm tree without coconuts.

Later in the afternoon the wind starts to blow and it’s getting chilly. I decide to walk back to my hotel. After a shower I would like to eat something. I ask the receptionist who first sends me to these restaurants for tourist; I would like to go to a paladares – a local place. I walk towards the residential local area where I ask a woman.

I encounter the woman who helped me this morning with finding a local place to stay. She ask me to follow here and she takes me further into the neighborhood and points to a balcony on the second floor of a flat; I see a sign which says "Paladares Sari". I enter a living room where two tables are set. The woman introduces herself as "Sari" and the man of the house is busy with his administration. The dog has the best place of the house and lies in a large leather seat in the corner of the room. On the balcony there are two rocking chairs for the rest of which also a woman is sitting on. There is no menu (I did not expect) but you can choose.

"Lomo", "bistec" or "chicken" with rice and beans, salad, soup and if you want a drink you have to pay extra. I choose the safe chicken and within 5 minutes there is a Creole menu on the table to evaporate. The food is fine but especially the atmosphere is perfect; I don’t think these people get a lot of Western tourists here although the area is next to a very touristic spot. After paying the bill (in moneda National) I walk further down a local shop where I want to get a bottle of cola (for my rum). I am asked if I am not looking for a girlfriend; I answer my fixed line for these questions which I get constantly. I would love to have a girl but I don’t have any money.

We all laugh and I walk back to my hotel to have a quite evening. 

On the wide beach with palm trees where I spent time yesterday as well are fortunately still some sunbeds free but it is starting to get busy fast. I grab one and drag it to the corner of the beach. This morning I put a piece of label from the coke bottle around my wrist so that it looks like I have a band around. I therefore hope that guards who keep watch from a distance will not come to me and sent me away.

For a moment I lie in the sun but after minutes I pull it in the shade of the palmtrees. Too hot and I don’t want to get burned. Especially a distater if you want to walk around with you’re big backpack on you’re shoulder. It is noticeable how few vendors walk around here - one with some cowboy hats but for the rest only some ladies of pleasure, bici-taxis and people who want to offer a tour on a boat or horse. Unfortunately no ladies with fruit or other food, because I would have loved some fresh fruit. In that respect they can learn a lot from other countries. It is already noon when I decide to get some food at "El Rapido".

They do not have sausages here and I can not really handle those hot microwave hamburgers here. Then just a pizza. I get talking to the man behind the desk and he tells me that he lived in Angola and Congo for two years. From his story I note that he fought there with the left-wing-rebels. Not really a story that you make up. My pizza is ready and I squeeze myself back into a plastic chair that is stuck to the plastic table. 

It is still early in the morning when I arrive at the bus stop. There is already a bus but it does not go to my destination. Kinda good news because it is already packed. But on the other hand, there is still a large group of people waiting who apparently all want to go to Camaguey. I hope I do not have to stand in the bus for two hours. It is quiet until about ten buses pass and I am the only one looking up every time.

All drive through and there is even an old articulated Dutch bus passing with still its destination and number on the display: Utrecht 772. My bus would be there at 08:00 but as often here it will be a quarter to nine as the bus finally arrives. The bus stops and the driver goes directly to the door to block it. He babbles in Spanish and the word "extranjero" attracts my attention.

People next to me look up at me and look disappointed. They explain that I, as a foreigner, can not enter this bus. I hardly believe it even though I have read similar stories in my travel guide. It is unbelievable, but I am the only one left behind on this now dead piece of land; I try again but the driver is inexorable. The kiosk has opened and I ask if there are other possibilities to get out of this place. She says that today nothing will come and tomorrow not because it is Sunday. So I have to wait until Monday 05:30 or take a (expensive) taxi. 

I decide to walk to the other end of Santa Lucia in the hope that I can get a lift or something. I am a bit burned anyway and I feel my bag on my shoulders as I walk further along the wide road where some taxis pass. Even though I stick up my thumb a few times, I do not assume that I will still be here today. But I have a tent in my backpack and maybe I'll be lucky later. After walking a kilometer or so, an old classic American Ford stops next to me and asks where I want to go. If I say my intended destination I can board but I want to talk about the price first.

Fortunately, I know what the older couple in Camaguey were asked for a taxi to "Playa" and first make a joke about that I want to come along for free and later that I want to pay 20 CP. I clearly indicate that I do not want to come alone and wave goodbye when the driver say he’s not happy with that price. He leaves and then comes back which is a good sign. After playing this game for a while we agree on a price of 50 CP (the correct amount according to me). The driver starts to laugh and knows enough. The other man tries to put some pressure, but I indicate that otherwise I will stay here for another day.

I can take place on the spot between the man and the driver in the front of this amazing classic ar. We drive around to pick up more people and when we’re full we drive on to Camaguay.