The Cuban Series #1: Cuba Libre and the Jaunt across the Island

PROLOGUE – CUBA IN CONTEXT

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Ruthlessly propagated as the Vegas of the Caribbean, Cuba has had its fair share of tumultuous history that plunged the country into a series of scandals and misfortune, and that stripped its populace of an autonomous voice, liberty and democracy. Columbus’ conquest for the Spanish crown in 1492, British occupation and colonialism during the 1700s, and the US government’s informal imperialism and infiltration of controlled crime and corruption into the layers of Cuban politics in the first half of the 20^th century are all just a handful of examples that attest to the fact that the island has been comprehensively deprived and depleted to the enrichment of the West at the expense of the Cuban people. Left at the mercy of gangsters and the American Mafia, Cuba – with Havana at its epicentre – was strategically moulded into a haven of infinite possibilities and became the world's stage for cockaignesque spectacles and glamorous misconduct, where the music never ceased, the liquor flowed in streams, the girls of easy virtue were ample and the boys of equal likes were too. Prostitution, drug trafficking, gambling and modern slavery all threw the country into a sequence of economic crises Cuba is yet to recover from today.
A glimmer of hope spread among the Cuban people when Fidel Castro entered the country's political landscape in the 1950s and marched into Havana backed by a 9000-strong Guerilla army in 1959 to fight for independence. The revolución Cubana - forever syphoned to Castro’s communist rhetoric, Che Guevara’s tender face and their vision of a Cuba libre - might have sparked a desire for self-governance and change in many, but ultimately failed to ever truly fulfil its purpose;
Cuba only gained independence pro forma, but still remained a US protectorate and a geopolitical playground for corruption and illicit business. 
What is left today is a nation wounded by the effects of decolonisation and corruption, a country consumed by passive despotism and a population that has been deterred to join global progression and innovation time and time again. The history of Cuba is, in many ways, an example of poor institutional leadership, failed diplomacy and fraudulent political alliance on part of the rest of the world that turned a blind eye to the physical, cultural and economic exploitation Cubans have had to endure for the benefit of white supremacy and - ultimately - tourism. 

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Embedded in this context, I welcome you to my new blog series on Cuba. Rather than a half-hearted attempt to create another travel guide (of which there are plenty on the web), I have decided to assemble an introspective collection of travel writings excerpted from the pages of my journals composed whilst voyaging across the Caribbean island. 

The short chapters that will be published over the next few weeks and – perhaps – months, all recount a tale of personal development, trial and error, infatuation and disillusionment, naivety, fear, courage, hope and discovery both through the eyes of me as a female solo traveller and as a citizen of the world.

Whilst I may, occasionally, bat my eyes at surrealism, all names, places, thoughts and occurrences mentioned are anchored in true events.

If you should find yourself in awe, in doubt, in fear, repelled or entirely intrigued by my writing, then please do let me know. Otherwise, this is the end of my introduction. May you find inspiration in between these lines, and may your mind take you far across the ocean.

With all my love,

Hilary Fierce

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CHAPTER 1: THE JAUNT ACROSS CUBA

After having spent four weeks travelling across Cuba last year, I felt quite compelled to immortalise my recollections by putting pen to paper. I just could not quite fathom how to approach such an endeavour. Rather simple queries such as 

What was it like?

Did you enjoy it?

or 

Did you feel safe?

posed by fellow travellers, strangers, friends and foes someway seemed to cause a marginal existential crisis followed by extreme heart palpitations and paralysis in regards to the questions’ answers. Now, approximately nine months and a considerable amount of quarantine seclusion later, I appear to have finally matured sufficiently to answer at least some of the enquiries that have been thrown at me during my vulnerable state of prolonged post-traumatic-Cuban-disorder.

So? Was Cuba worth it?

-   A hundred times yes.

Did I enjoy it?

-   Extraordinarily.

Was it as beautiful as everyone claims it to be?

-   Definitely.

Would I ever go back?

-   Not. Even. If. Someone. Paid. Me. For. It.

Yes. You read correctly.

Now let me explain.

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Cuba threw me with the same degree of ferocity the salty, raging waves break on the shores of Havana’s Malécon. Nothing short of captivating, it equally frightened me – to the extent that I now struggle with putting my sentiments into words adequately. You see, as much as Cuba is undoubtedly easy on the eyes, it is twice as harsh on one’s mind. To describe the matter in the words of a close friend of mine, Cuba may, in fact, be quite possibly one of the only places on earth that holds the power to beguile its visitor with its charming vivacity, unpronounceable beauty and infectious joye de vivre, whilst shaking one’s core, devouring one’s spirit and shredding one’s soul to pieces. 
Travelling Cuba predominantly felt like fighting a perennial battle between myself, my set of believes and an adversary I could not quite locate. If I thought I knew who I was before setting foot on the island’s soil, Cuba sure taught my Western privileges and me otherwise. It was hard. Worth it, but hard, and quite frankly, exhausting in every possible way. Nothing came easy; not the overpriced coffee I used to order that would take two and a half hours to be served. Not the effort to prevent scams by keeping on top of the conversion rate between the tourist currency and the local moneda nacional, not the food shopping or lack of WiFi and most certainly not travelling across the country as a single, female solo traveller. Believe me – in case you haven’t already grown a pair before wandering about Cuba’s meandering streets and beaches, you’ll be leaving the island with four balls at your disposal by the end of your trip. But no te preocupes mi amor– relentlessly provocative, Cuba is a miraculous yet savage place, raw and unapologetic in its own right, fierce, all-consuming and - ironically - exactly what I needed to grow into the confident explorer I have become today.

A ver. I would not claim that I would have ever considered describing myself as an oblivious, inconsiderate and naive traveller. On the contrary, I too have had my fair share of eye-opening experiences over the course of my existence that taught me a thing or two in life and that compelled me to approach my adventures consciously, mindfully and gratefully. I just never expected Cuba to be the one destination that would reveal the arrogance I had assumed towards my own existence in the process. I had grown to feel invincible and I remember embarking on my solo travels around the globe with a firm sense of confidence and the promise to immerse myself in all the cultures I would encounter without considering the consequences. For five months, I glid across Bolivia, Peru, Colombia and Mexico with such effortlessness and nonchalance, some even dared to argue I was born for it.

Let’s see what you’ve got in store for me Cuba, I recall thinking with a smug smile painted across my face as I observed the island drawing closer through the poufy clouds from the window of a half-empty plane. I had already shaken hands with the last Incas at Lake Titicaca, had trekked the Andes, ventured into the Colombian Jungle and explored the lost ruins of the ancient Mayans. I had made it this far – what could possibly go south at this point?

Ay cariños. I should not have jinxed it, you’d better take my word for it. I really shouldn’t have.

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Well then. The first few weeks in the country rushed by with such intensity I did not even have time to think twice. Engulfed in the spirit of voyaging, my new friends and I embarked on a sweeping adventure across the island, which led us to the valley of Viñales where majestic forests, horse stables, thriving plantations and waterfalls painted the canvases of our memories in scintillating colours. 

Further, we travelled to Trinidad and its astonishing, graceful colonial architecture and equally mesmerising people. Cuba’s rhythms saturated with passion and sensuality accompanied our venture and cordially coerced us to salsa the night away under the twinkling, starry sky and the sweltering heat of the Caribbean, always led by a local dancer and his magnanimous smile that never judged our clumsy steps.

 Ecstatic, we found ourselves raving to techno in flip-flops, thoroughly lost somewhere inside Trinidad’s naturally occurring caves until the rising sun tinted the firmament mauve, and swam in the miraculous, translucent waters on Santa Clara’s paradisiac beaches. 
We had entered heaven, we told ourselves repeatedly, and swore to never return to our old selves we had left standing at the airport prior to our respective journeys. 

What can I say.

We truly lived our best lives, shamelessly, insouciantly and incredulously naively. This is fucking awesome! we screamed at one another as we ran through the narrow streets of a rural village, quite to the amusement of its inhabitants, convinced, that the splendour our life had become would never vanish.

I would have left it at that, you know. I would have gladly collected all the memories we had made piece by piece and left it at that. But alas, that was not the end of my journey in Cuba as you might have guessed by now, and the higher we rose from that moment onwards, the harder we fell in the weeks that followed. It was, in fact, only after I had parted from my friends and reached Havana that Cuba’s sparkling façade gradually began to crack one fracture at a time.

But I should slow down now, for I am getting ahead of myself.

I'll catch you in the next chapter - 

  hasta luego mangones 

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Check out my instagram @hilaryfierce for more travel photography and watch this space for Chapter 2. Love Love.

CABO DE LA VELA & PUNTA GALLINAS: On Preserving Life`s Magic, Finding Neverland and Why It Sucks to Grow Up

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"But I`m warning you - once you`ve grown up, you can never come back."

- Peter Pan, 1953

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One day, when Hilary was four years old, she was playing in her grandparents` garden and plucked a rose for her mother. She must have looked rather delightful, for her mother put her hand to her heart and cried: "Oh, why can`t you remain like this forever!" Henceforth, Hilary knew that she must grow up and that things would inevitably change one day.

This inference was the beginning of the end.

Or so it seemed.

About twenty years later, she found herself on the scintillating, glistening shores of the Colombian coast overlooking the miraculous azure hues of the Caribbean Sea. "What a sight for sore eyes," she thought to herself as she observed the foamy, white crests adorning the top of each wave as they rolled towards her sandy feet. 

She took a deep breath.

She`d indeed grown up since the day she`d plucked that rose, and she was pretty certain, she didn`t like it. "Adults," she scoffed. "Adults are ridiculous. They`re senseless, unreliable and confusing. They`ve lost all spark that makes life worth living and all capacity to be humble and to enjoy the simple things in addition to it!" 

She threw a shell she`d found buried in the sand back into the sea.

How astoundingly quiet it was. It almost made her feel uncomfortable. It was strangely overwhelming, that sensation of utter silence and pure peace. Where she`d come from, people never ceased talking and they`d generally forgotten what it meant to live in serenity and harmony. They`d failed to remember what it meant to embrace compassion and to accept kindness and love as the pillars of a peaceful co-existence.

She shook her head.

Thinking of home always stung a little. She couldn't quite help but mourn the loss of loved ones to the concept of adulthood. "It`s so awfully dark," she mumbled, noticing shivers jolting down her spine. "It`s as though the moment people realise they`ve grown up, all colour is extracted from the entirety of their existence. It`s like someone switches the light off. There`s no peace anymore and no desire to reclaim it, either. That`s why growing up sucks. People stop noticing the beauty surrounding them day by day. They stop believing in the magic and marvels of life, just like that. They turn cold, joyless and frustrated." She paused. "How very sad."

She began to walk along the beach. The sun, nearing its zenith above the horizon, burned her neck. Careless, she reflected on the course of her life and wondered if she`d ever truly been happy and if she`d ever truly found peace.

She felt relief when she noticed her lips curling into a faint smile. 

Yes. There`d been times of bliss, balance and harmony, when she`d still believed in miracles the way only carefree, innocent children do; when trees had still been enchanted, the woods had still housed dwarfs and fairies, rivers had still harboured treasures and when she`d still waited for the moon and the stars to descend only to lull her to sleep night after night. There had been no limits to her imagination and the thought of her childhood and adolescence warmed her heart and made her chuckle. How beautifully exciting and mysterious they`d been, those evenings spent at the lakeside where her friends and she used to wait impatiently for the sun to set, so they could secretly skinny-dip in the ice cold water. How heavenly those Sundays had felt during which she`d hibernate in tents made of pillows, blankets and sheets that carried her parents` scent, to immerse herself in all sorts of fantastical worlds conjured by the books she read. And how thrilling those mornings had been when the way to school had taken twice as long as jaunting across a field of daisies and poppies had taken utmost priority. 

Ah. Yes. 
Her heart skipped a beat at the memory of those spring afternoons spent with her closest ones in the countryside, where a carpet of frost made sitting on the wet ground - whilst gathered around candles and bonfires - a cosy, unforgettable pleasure. She remembered the music complementing their late nights and the taste of cheap alcohol persuading their hopelessly young, drunken hearts to fall in love, only to be woken up by an unruly breeze sweeping over their intoxicated, intertwined bodies the following morning in order to invite all of them to witness the spectacle of falling cherry blossom leaves covering their town in a vast blanket of rose madden petal snow. 

"No doubt," she thought. 

No doubt had she felt at peace at some point in her past. And no doubt had that peace been disturbed the moment they`d all inevitably transitioned from youth to that rather off-putting condition called "adulthood". Growing up had crept upon her - and everyone else she knew at that time - like a contagious, merciless, lethal disease without a single sign of warning. The period of incubation was accompanied by sheer terror and utter desperation; within the space of a few weeks she`d attended more funerals than she`d ever feared possible. The friends she`d once sworn to conquer the world with were no more. One by one willingly exchanged spontaneity for rigidity, humour for sternness, compassion for intolerance, modesty for arrogance, unconditional love for cynicism and creativity for dullness, until there were no infantile spirits left to bury any longer. It felt as if the entirety of her existence was shifted into a monochrome matrix of monotony from that moment onwards. There was hardly any vibrancy to the colour of her days anymore. The levity that had saturated the years of her harmonious, young existence had yielded to what advocates of said poisonous disease proudly called the "era of respectability, success, reputability and responsibility." 

She snorted and kicked into the blazing sand.

What absolute nonsense.

In her years as a grown up, she`d hardly ever met an adult who had truly honoured - let alone lived by - those principles. She`d witnessed a greater number of adults bending those conventions to their liking in order to behave like ill-mannered children than otherwise. It was all nothing but a deceptive carnival. And seeing that the absurdity of the matter exceeded the realm of her comprehension, she also never truly understood the youngsters of her generation`s urge and eagerness to abandon what had them all kept sane over the course of their limited lives: Their wild, uncompromising spirit and their irrevocable courage and curiosity solely intrinsic to the nature of a child. And all this fuss in exchange for what? A life of complications, conformity, illusions and delusions? Surely, they all must have been aware of the fact that the process of losing the ability to perceive life`s wonders in their purest, rawest and truest form is not only irreversible, but also deadly to one`s soul in equal measure? 

 

She sighed and paced herself in order to glance over her shoulder to estimate how far she`d walked. She`d accomplished quite the trek to her surprise. The sandy stretch of land she`d set off from had vanished behind a range of velvety dunes. She shrugged and began to examine her environment properly: The landscape had unnoticedly become barren and craggier at some point during her peripatetic reflections, whilst the sea had somewhat changed from a tranquil, sapphire surface to a foaming brew of ferociously mighty waters.

It really was astounding. She didn`t recognise herself. Under normal circumstances, the fact that there wasn`t a single soul in sight would have slightly disconcerted her. Not on this occasion. Not today. She truthfully enjoyed the solitude that had accompanied her on this leisurely walk. "Growing up had been a rather lonely affair, too," she mumbled as she sat down on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the rough ocean. 

Naturally, growing up in its most quintessential significance had never truly been her intention, and whilst she must have rather excelled at it - according to the judgement of those closest to her at least - she`d nonetheless secretly invested an equal amount of time and effort into preserving and nurturing that weak flame, that little spark of magic, that had survived that rather venomous transition as she did in giving off the appearance of an adult. Despite running the risk of being shunned, ridiculed and mocked by society, she flung herself into the task of restoring the harmonious peace that had once set the ground tone for her life as a child. Thus, whilst mirroring her contemporaries` desire to become wo(men) of society branded by "respectability, success reputability and responsibility", she also ever so vehemently granted herself moments of freedom, that is, of daydreaming, hours of irrational fantasising and a frequent, if not essential visit to those enchanted, surreal and absurd places fabricated by her dreams born from her own mind. 

Occasionally, she would find a shadow of harmonious bliss knotted in the fabric of her reality - in her best friends` light, high and clear laughter perhaps, or in one of her lovers` dimples. Whenever she`d come across the luxury to encounter a rare particle of the magic that made life the grand, extraordinarily mesmerising adventure she`d refused to renounce to unlike others, she`d make sure to absorb every ounce of it and to send it right through the channels of a venous labyrinth of synapses and receptors to the depths of her fantasy and the heights of her imagination. And it was there, somewhere amid the limbo between both, that she`d chosen to create a place that would`t only shelter the fragments of magic, but also preserve the remains of her former, untainted spirit. 
With time, Neverland - as she fittingly called it - grew from a quivering flame to an island where absurdity ruled all and rationality was frowned upon, where time was transcendent and limits limitless, where she could sit in a tavern and discuss with her favourite literary characters, where she could paint just like J.M.W. Turner, sail with the most devious pirates or dance with the nymphs of the woods on a full moon. 
She`d indeed grown unreservedly fond of her island, except for the fact that she hadn`t ventured to Neverland in a long time. 
Ever since she`d begun her adventures around the world on her own terms, she hadn`t felt a desire to return. It wasn`t necessary any longer. Neverland had fulfilled its purpose. It had transmuted into its own fountain of magic and healing, ceaselessly splashing in all of its gentle peace, bliss and harmony whilst seeping into her conscious mind. She suddenly recognised a piece of Neverland wherever she went to. She wasn`t forced to travel into the deepest corners of herself anymore to feel a sea breeze tousling her hair, to let herself be enchanted by a colourful sunset, to laugh - wholeheartedly - or to dance whenever she desired to. No, it was all there, right within and in front of her as a consequence of Neverland having gradually begun to manifest itself in all of her surroundings by restoring the one gift she`d ceaselessly been searching for: The ability to perceive and live life unapologetically through the eyes and spirit of an infant. 

Contentedly, she turned her gaze towards the ocean. Whilst she observed the sea, she spotted something rather peculiar; there, contrasting against the sky tinted by the light of the golden hour, pierced a rocky peak through the surface of the salty waters. Certain that it had not been there before, she squinted and gasped in disbelief. What she was staring at wasn`t just a piece of rugged land in the middle of the sea, but one, that shared an eerie, identical resemblance with the island of her imagination. "There you are Neverland!" she cried excitedly. What a mesmerising spectacle it was! From a distance, she even believed to recognise a ship with black sails harbouring in the island`s bay and columns of smoke signals rising above its woods.

She couldn`t but beam with joy. 

"Today, I`ve been reborn," she claimed firmly. "Today, I`ve been reborn on the scintillating, glistening shores of the Colombian coast with the spirit and eyes of a child and the wisdom of an adult after having encountered no one but the manifestation of my inner self. This is my reality now, and should I ever fail again to be courageous enough to recognise, honour and admire the beauty of life, the miracles of existence and the marvels of all kinds sprawling within myself - even if it requires standing against the perception of others on such matters - I vow to think back to this moment and to imminently know what to do." 

And without further ado - or caring a jot about the state and opinions of grown ups any loner - she took a deep breath, repositioned herself in accordance to the second star to the right and walked across the dunes straight on `till morning.

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As always: 

Thanks for browsing, I hope you enjoyed the read.

À la prochaine & much love,

Hilary Fierce

*All pictures were taken in the North of Colombia in and around Cabo de La Vela and Punta Gallinas.

COLOMBIA: 40 Shades of Cartagena - A Visual Love Letter

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Not all journeys are designed to be reflected upon in written form. On particularly rare occasions - quite like this one - a simple (40) photograph shall do. I`m therefore keeping this one short, my friends, for there are certain places in this world words have yet to be invented to even remotely describe their beauty, harmony and sophistication.  
Well then. Welcome to my visual love letter dedicated to one of the Caribbean`s finest pearls.
Cartagena - each and every smile captured in and provoked by this post, is dedicated to you. 

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BARRANCO: A Short Guide to Lima`s Most Underrated, Bohemian District

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Welcome back dear readers, fellow travellers, friends and foes, welcome back.

We have already made it through a quarter of the new year (freaked out yet?), which made me realise how long it has been since I last pestered you with one of my reports from across the world. After having been cut off from decent wifi for a solid four weeks (thanks Cuba), I figured it was about time to tune in and to resume where I`d left off. Whilst I invited you guys to join me on a short, sandy trip to Latin America`s only natural oasis in my previous post, I`m now determined to take you to Peru`s capital, where I`ll introduce you to some of the hippest bars, museums, fairs and street art the country has to offer.

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"KK, let`s say I decide to visit Lima, where should I stay?"

Before I let you in on the actual good stuff, there are a few things I must insist on clarifying: Unlike the urban landscape of Western or European cities, Latin American metropoles thrive off their outskirts that are often considered safer than the city centres. Lima is no exception here. With an estimated population of 10 million people spread across 43 districts the capital is not only humongous in size but also comprises of areas that are best avoided. Unfortunately, and depending on the neighbourhood you find yourself in, it is common practice to get scammed, harassed or robbed at gun-, or knifepoint in plain daylight. As such, reading up on Lima`s districts that are safe and accessible to tourists should be a primary concern of your trip planning and should thus influence your choice of location and accommodation.

HUACACHINA: Five Reasons Why You Should Visit South America`s Only Oasis at Least Once in Your Life

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Once upon a time, beautiful native princess Huacay China retired to the remotest place on earth to mourn her lover`s death. Far from her kingdom and her father`s palace, her grief was interrupted by the sudden appearance of her deceased beloved. Terrified by the illusion, she undressed and threw herself into the pool of her own tears. The folds of her golden gown are rumoured to have formed the sand dunes the lagoon is girded with. As for the princess herself, she is believed to have been living as a mermaid guarding the oasis ever since. 

THE ANDES: 20 Latin Songs to Get You Across One of The World`s Largest Mountain Ranges

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Hey there, how`s life been treating you ?

I originally planned on meticulously chronicling my three-week adventure across the Andes in a lengthy, detailed post for you but have decided to cut it short(er) this time. The web is so overly saturated with advice, info, pack lists and itineraries that I figured you wouldn`t need another one of those bloggers explaining to you what sort of hiking boots to get and what kind of thermal underwear to pack. Nah. I fully trust your wit and ability to investigate should you need any guidance on visiting Latin America`s incomparable mountains. Whatever you choose and wherever you`re deciding on going - be it the Rainbow Mountains, the Inca Trail or Lares Trek, Machu Picchu, the Maras Salt-flats or the Colca Canyon - Google`s got you covered, belive me. What I`ll be sharing with you instead is something neither Google nor any travel blogger has managed to thus far (???), and that`s a fiery up-to-date latin playlist to ensure you`re actually gonna make it all the way to them snowy mountain tops. Like don`t get me wrong, I`m 98% positive that you`ll enjoy your experience up there, but I also haven`t met a single traveller - myself included - who didn`t hit a rough patch at least once during their Andean trip, which is why I`ve compiled a list of 20 songs that will give you the necessary amount of fuego to conquer any kind of boredom, fear, cold, exhaustion, altitude and potential food poisoning. See it as the circumstantial soundtrack to my own experience if you like and thank me later: There`s nothing more therapeutic than pushing yourself to your own limits somewhere in the middle of bloody nowhere between 4-5000m above sea level to the beat of a vibrant Latin song that is kicking your a*s truuust. 

    So I guess that`s it for today - enjoy the browsing, enjoy the music and hasta luego. 

Much love,

HF