Turning 50!

Supposedly it’s the new 30.

Or the new 40.

Or some similar landmark cliche.

When I first set out nearly a year ago, with the real possibility that my half century would be brought up away from family and friends, my mind did briefly consider options.

First amongst those was the Rio Olympics, in what seemed a logical extension of a North American trip, and potentially the party to end all parties.

To say that I’m glad I didn’t do that is an understatement – from the petty crime to the pollution, the corruption and complete exploitation of the local citizens, the somewhat banal sporting performances (Usain Bolt aside) and even the Ryan Lochtie fabrications, it seems that these were not “the best Olympic Games ever!”

I got my sporting fix from Cuban state controlled tv, which did give me a different slant than usual, but showed me that I wasn’t missing that much.

And to be fair, Cuba is a more exotic destination than Brazil and Rio, if only on the basis of numbers.

My week in Havana over, it was time to head to Trinidad, Cuba, a 6 hr bus ride from Havana, and yet another UNESCO world heritage site!

The bus trip is, as to be expected, broken up halfway at a pre-arranged cafe/petrolstation/tourist shop, where the simplicity of Cuba was in full view as the roadside grass was being trimmed using the traditional sickle method.

We arrived mid afternoon, I didn’t get too lost in finding my casa, and once my bags were safely set down, it was off the explore.

Trinidad is a gorgeous old town – slightly hilly, with an organic, rather than a planned street layout.

Social life tends to revolve around a couple of plazas, where public internet is available. The main hangout is on the steps outside the Casa de la musica, where people gather in the afternoon and around sunset to drink, listen to music and check their smartphones, before it turns into a more formal dining experience after dark.

Sitting in the sun, listening to salsa, drinking a cold beer, talking to locals – not a bad start to an evening’s festivities.

I did make one rookie mistake though. I got talking to a bunch of local guys, one of whom had a mate who ran horse rides to the local waterfall (a quintessential experience here in Trinidad), and based on some advice from Alistair, I agreed to be picked up at my casa the next day at a more than reasonable price.

But more explanation later.

Right around the corner from the steps is a local church that offers fantastic views of the town, and the surrounding countryside.

I sidled over there a short time before sunset, and was rewarded with stunning cistas, a beautiful sunset and a surprising paucity of people.

Back to the steps for $1 cocktails, eagerly brought to you from the hole in the wall service areas, and finally I had to choose a spot for dinner.

I ended up at El Tenedor, an open rooftop restaurant with decent enough food, reasonable service, but brilliant views.

Music played as I supped on fish and chicken and pork, and drank cocktails in the cooling night air. I admit I luxuriated over my meal, slightly tipsy, wondering at the fact that I was here, of all the places on the planet, to celebrate my last round trip around the sun.

To cap off a memorable evening, I hiked my way 10 mins out of town, up barely lit streets to Disco Ayala, Trinidad’s exotic nightclub in a cave, for some quite ordinary sweaty “dad” dancing, more drinks and plenty of company.

Maybe it was my “wave your arms in the air” style that attracted a number of girls to try and teach me less ridiculous moves, but whatever their motivation, by the end of the night I was mamboing in a slightly more co-ordinated style.

Finally it was back up to the top of the cave, a stumble downhill past the steps where the last stragglers were finishing their mohitos, and a focused meander back to my casa, where I found the owner still up watching tv.

He invited me to share a drink, which became more than one, a few words, which we managed using my ipad translation app, before eventually bidding me goodnight, but not before generously seeing me safely upstairs to my room.

And this is where my rookie mistake earlier in the evening came back to haunt me. It seemed as if I had just closed my eyes when there was a knock at my door, waking me up for my 8 am ride out to the horses.

I’m not particularly proud of this, but I simply ignored it, rolled over and went back to sleep. Shocking behaviour – I should at least have answered the door and simply said sorry but not today. Still, that seemed like too much effort, in fact just rolling over and closing my eyes had sapped me of all my available strength.

The knocking continued for a few minutes, before i was finally left in peace.

Later I learned that:
(a) my host was actually a little worried I might have died during the night;
(b) the horse organiser just shrugged, went home and got stoned for the rest of the day and
(c) this was officially the worst hangover on my trip so far (which is saying something)

But what a place, and what a way to celebrate one of life’s milestones.

Viva Cuba. Viva Trinidad.