Nestled in the mountains of western Cuba, amongst the soaring cliff faces and tobacco fields, is the bucolic valley hamlet of Viñales. With the exception of the tourists, life is much the same as it has always been, with men working the fields with the combined power of brawn, determination, and draft animals.
The town has embraced tourism and healthfully merged the old ways with the new. The main town square hosts music and dancing and peddlers hawk their crafts and tours. The restaurants offer quality local food at reasonable prices. (We had probably our best meal in all of Cuba here.) A hop-on/hop-off tour bus plies its way throughout the valley, past the numerous caves, underground rivers, tobacco plantations, and valley view points, all arranged nicely for your touring pleasure
500 years ago during the Spanish colonization of Cuba, flush with the wealth of the sugar trade, the town of Trinidad was formed along the southern Caribbean coast. The anniversary party was just getting ramped up as we rolled into town, a celebration of food and music that would last an entire week. A week long food and music festival in Cuba? Yes please
One of the advertising slogans for Cuba tourism effectively translates as “Where the past and present live together.” This is definitely true of Trinidad, a quaint little town laid out around a main church and public square in Spanish colonial fashion. The narrow dirt and cobblestone streets are shared by a few cars, many bicycles, and horse drawn carriages. 1959 is part of the present, right?
The town center is very well preserved, as tourism is Trinidad’s main source of income. Waking across town takes just a few moments, and you can see the walls and roadways steadily return closer to nature as you approach the adjacent trees and farmland that spread out towards the surrounding mountains
Greenery stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions toward the striking blue of the Caribbean as we descend towards the runway below. Small stone and wire fences cross the landscape until they reach the few narrow roadways. We’d arrived at what appeared to be an idyllic little farming village
We are greeted at immigration by stern faces and raised eyebrows. Winnie passes through without issue, while I get the rubber glove treatment. 3 interviews later we step out into the morning sun and humidity. The first interviewer was very friendly, even complimenting me on my Spanish. The other two were obviously just going through the motions
There are 3 different money exchange booths. We enter the one without a line, and the staff of 4 informs us that they aren’t open for business. Another money exchange booth ignores us completely. We go to the back of the line of 30 people and wait for the 2 cashiers to do us the honor of converting our funds into the local tourist currency, in between cleaning their fingernails and extended conversations with their friends.
“Wow, that place smells great! Let’s go check it out!”, growled my stomach.
The lunch hour was well behind us and the smells of slow-cooked meat were wafting out the door, carried on waves of loud Latin beats. Hidden in the faded paint on the wall we could barely make out the word Barbacoa and a picture of a sheep. My stomach growled again
The place was packed, with rows upon rows of well-worn wooden tables filled to capacity with older men in dirty flannel. A waiter cleared off a small table covered in empty beer bottles and soiled napkins, seating us with an easy view of 3 different soccer matches on the wall-mounted flat screens.
This place was seriously local. My skin color was the palest by several shades, and through the dim light and smoky haze I stood out like a sore thumb. Our neighbors to our right immediately engaged us in conversation in a broken mix of Spanish, Tsotsil, and Tseltal (the 2 most common local Mayan languages) that was truly dizzying. “Where are you from?” “Welcome to Mexico!” “You like it here?”
We sipped our warm stale beer from Dixie cups as we waited for our order of tacos, and did our best to participate in the verbal barrage coming our way. Two of our new friends didn’t speak Spanish any better than we did, and the 3rd as self-appointed ambassador did his best to share their questions, difficult as it might be with alcohol hindered enunciation. For 2:00 pm on a Sunday, he was sauced. Hell, for 2 am on a Friday he was sauced
We’ve shown every month how much we spend on dining out, but what does it really mean? How do you use that information to budget for your own world travels? To help, this is the first of a series of posts where we share 3 meals we’ve enjoyed in different budget classes. Welcome to food voyeurism at its best
Budget Meal
Carnitas is a traditional Mexican pork dish, cooked in a large copper pot with herbs and spices for hours and hours until the meat is so tender that it falls off the bone and can be shredded by hand. Stuff some of this in a hot off the comal hand made gordita with some fresh salsa, and you have one of our favorite lunches
A bit off the beaten path in the Allende neighborhood, the wonderful Bautista family runs Carnitas Bautista. Since they don’t have a website, the address is Guadiana #2, Colonia Allende, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. We recently brought a friend there for lunch, and he said, “I didn’t know anything existed in the world that tastes this good!” The reviews don’t get much more glowing than that. And since the place is always packed and we are the only foreigners we see, you know it is good
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. All Dressed Up and Ready to Celebrate
El Día de Muertos, the day of the dead, is a Mexican holiday honoring the lives of friends and family members who have died. It is a time to gather with loved ones, build altars to the deceased, and visit graves with gifts and offerings. It is not a time of mourning, but a grand celebration of life
