Rainy morning. Big puddles of brown water on the mud road leading from the casa to the main road. I have mud from my bare toes all the way up to my helmet after only a couple of k. This is not just a shower, it's something else. Later on we will realize it's the beginning of a "rain storm of the century". We did not put on rain gear. But it's actually quite ok. As long as we are moving. The sun is not burning, the heat does not exhaust you and dry you out. This is supposed to be a hilly day, and hilly it is. Either up or down. Beautiful views. Ok road, so we can just let go on the downhill. After fifty k we approach some kind of town, or village according to the "Biking on Cuba" guide book from 2002. Now it has grown into considerable size. We ask at least ten people where we can buy pizza and they all point in the same direction. A good sign. A bad sign is that the pizza maker shakes his head when we arrive. Out of flour. Not the first time this happens. We are wet, cold and hungry. Rule no 4, if you find food, buy it and eat it. Whenever. We find a place that they call cafeteria. The Cuban cafeteria has nothing to do with what we think is a cafeteria. Except that they serve coffee. This one has home made chicken broth with rice and yuca for 5 pesos. After this strength returns although a bit chilly because of the soaking wet clothes and the wind which is becoming stronger and stronger. A dirt road in incredibly bad shape leads us out of town. We have to ask several times, "is this really the way to Moa"? We can't believe it, Moa is a big industrial city. After a while dirt becomes concrete. Hills are getting higher and steeper, rain is getting heavier, wind stronger and the road in worse and worse condition. These "wanna be" concrete roads, full of pot holes, probably not maintained for half a century. They are even worse than dirt roads.
Today we climb 996 meters. Exhausted we enter the horrible town of Moa. There are more water filled holes than road now. No signs of anything but big nickel factories and ramshackle apartment houses, probably where the factory workers live. We stop at a bus station, ask people wearing yellow helmets. We follow a rickshaw with a man who pretends he knows where we are heading. There are no roads, just orange water (the soil is orange), everywhere. Here and there in the water are half meter deep pot holes. This is Kafka. We are biking back and forth. The rain has developed into a tropical storm. Finally, we reach our casa. Just to find out that they are fully booked (why on earth is anyone else but us actually visiting this ugly place?). We are deported, oh no!!, to some friends. But first we get a shot of dark rum each. And life returns. And we make the last effort. To a casa that is not in the same division as the other. But nothing matters. Just a warm shower, food, and a bed.
It just rains in a bit into our room, not much considering the amount of water coming down from the sky outside.
Cuban guy at the cafeteria - cheering the crazy wet cyklists from Canada
Finding shelter at a cafeteria after five hours of biking in crazy rain. The board behind me shows the available food (3). Today chicken broth, with or without yuca. And plain rice.
Yeah! We survived.
Did I mention the rain?
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