Last weekend we went to an awesome little town called Viñales. The group chose to go in a bus, it was filled with tourists. The journey lasted four hours, we passed through varying scenes of Cuban countryside. As we got off the bus, we were greeted by a mob of women aggressively asking us if we needed a casa particular, or a place to stay. I’m fairly certain I inadvertently injured several of these women while getting off the bus. Our guide Carlos met up with us and led us through the manicured streets to our house. Each building was the same height and freshly painted. A pack of dogs was walking alongside us, when suddenly a man picked up a dog by the hind leg and started swinging it around. He then threw it into a van with the words “Control Sanitario” written on it. The whole time the dog was crying loudly. He proceeded to pick up three more dogs and throw them into the van, each landing with a loud thud. It was incredibly hard to watch, especially knowing that being thrown into the van was nothing compared to what was heading their way. After some decompression and solo time, I felt ok about it, but much more aware of Cuba’s conception of stray animals and their humanity, or lack thereof.
The next day we left early in the morning to go spelunking. We drove 16 kilometers to a small town called Moncada. The town was the first campesino (farmer) town established post revolution. Nestled in the mountains, it served as a military base for rebels during the revolution. There is a huge system of caves below the mountains, which the rebels knew intimately. Batista’s army chased these rebels through the caves, quickly realized what they were getting into, and left. A guide took us through these caves. I was overwhelmed. Being in a cave felt like entering an ancient chapel over and over again. Each gallery was different and terrifying. It was completely dark except for our mild head lamps. The air was entirely still, temperature perfectly consistent, and the only noise came from our conversations.
We learned that the giant columns we would walk by were formed by stalagmites and stalactites converging. The stalagmites and stalactites ranged from larger than life to infinitely small, thin as a human hair. There were also formations called pallet (they looked like artists pallets) that inexplicably stuck out at vertical angles from the cave walls, with small stalactites (I think those are the ones that descend) coming down off them.
My favorite in-cave moment came at the very middle of our excursion. We had reached the turning point and stopped to check out a secret gallery that very few tourists see. I’m not sure why our guide deemed us worthy of seeing this gallery, but it was extremely hard to spot and the entrance was difficult to fit through. Inside the secret gallery were thousands (probably millions) of hair-sized formations that stuck out at 90 degree angles. They were clear like quartz, but made of mineral deposits. It was fascinating, and I felt like exhaling in the general direction of these tiny formations would break them. Moving a human body through such a delicate space was nerve-racking.
Only three people were allowed into the secret gallery at a time, so some of us waited in the ante-chamber. While the others were in the secret gallery, we all shut off our lamps and sat in silence for many minutes. It was how I imagine sensory deprivation chambers to be like, so dark that when my eyes were open it felt as though they were closed.
Next week, we go to Santiago and Baracoa. The week after next, the Lewis & Clark alternative spring break trip comes! It’ll be an exciting few days out of town and with my friends from home.