We requested breakfast at 8am when asked what time we wanted it, but our host negotiated us to 8.30 as she had to get her daughter to school before she would be able to deal with us; she served this meal in her kitchen which made us even happier that we were moving on today. She tried very hard to get us to recommend her casa to our friends and hoped that we too would come back and stay with her. Although we said that we would, we had no intention of going back to her and certainly couldn’t recommend her accommodation even if she was a really considerate host.
She gave us directions on how to get out of the city but we still managed to get lost. The day was already hot when we set off and the lorries and cars kick out so much choking black smoke that you can’t have the windows open driving around these streets; fortunately the car has air con which actually works quiet well and it kept us cool in a hot and sticky situation.
Today we are heading for Barracoa which is supposed to have some very good beaches suitable for both sunbathing and snorkelling. The first Spanish settlement in Cuba, founded by Diego Velazquez in 1512, Baracoa is on the northern coast of Guantanamo Province, over 620 miles (1000 km) east of Havana. We did consider a visit to Guantanamo Bay but the Rough Guide suggested that is was virtually impossible to get anywhere near as the Americans had the area sown up and heavily guarded. Our journey
did take us past the city of Guantanamo and over the mountains. Apparently La Farola viaduct is an impressive feat of engineering that winds among mountains 1968 feet (600 m) above the sea level and has nine bridges that hang out over precipice. http://www.cuba-junky.com/guantanamo/baracoa-home.htmWe had the address and telephone number of a Casa that we guessed was going to be a good one and stopped at a small town called La Maya to telephone and book a room. Now that we have some national money we hoped it would be a bit easier than the last time we had tried but the public phones were all by card payment. There was a bunch of young men hanging out near the phones and they asked us where we were from and realising that we didn’t have a phone card one of them took us over to the shop and told the assistant what we needed, told us how much we had to pay for it, 5 national pesos, then took us back to the public phone and proceeded to dial all the numbers. He told us that the line was busy, we mentioned coffee so he took us over to where we could get a good refreshing shot of espresso, again only .45 of a national peso, before taking us back to the phone, again dialling all the numbers and then handing the phone to me. What a great guy, if only more Cubans were like him. With the room booked we continued our journey.
We stopped a couple of times 
along the way, once at a deserted beach where Paul had a skinny dip and again a bit further up the road. The Atlantic was the colour of sapphires and in other places aqua marine and really beautiful. 
As we left the coast to make our way over the Sierra Cuchillas de Baracoa via La Farola, the views were magnificent. As we wound our way up, various mountain
villagers were at the side of the road selling their wares; mandarins, bananas, chocolate, necklaces, coffee beans, cocoa powder cocoa balls (?). We had wanted to buy some coffee beans so when we stopped to take a picture we also did a deal. We stopped a little further up and purchased some mandarins and chocolate.
When we finally reached the Casa in Baracoa we found the streets very narrow almost to the point of claustrophobia. We did have to stop once to find out where we were in the town but we were glad we had rung ahead and booked as the house was really nice with a good roof terrace which we probably would have all to ourselves. The lady even gave us a piece of cake each, then the English speaking husband turned up to say ‘sorry the room is taken for tonight but we have found you somewhere just around the corner’.
The one just around the corner was not as nice but Yolanda, the landlady, was. We
promised ourselves that we would go back to the original house the next day. We had dinner at the Casa that night choosing lobster for a change. We had had lobster in the Trinidad Casa and I hadn’t really enjoyed it that much but I was bored with chicken and pork. She dished up a really nice soup first and the salad was excellent but I didn’t really like the lobster although Paul enjoyed his. Towards the end of eating and for sometime after dinner Yolanda spent time with us both in conversation and gave us bit of a Spanish lesson. Just before going to bed I had my first attack of diarrhoea; I also had to get up during the night plus a third time the next morning. Suspecting food poisoning, Yolanda tried very hard to convince me that it had been caused by the pork roll 30 odd hours before, but I think it had more to do with a more recent seafood dish. Feeling a little ‘dodgy’ I had some fruit (bad idea) and coffee but was unable to persuade myself to manage anything further; and it was shortly after that that I really started to feel dodgy, nauseous with severe stomach cramps. I didn’t want to ruin Pauls day and thinking I could lie on the beach just as comfortably as lying in bed I continued with our plan to visit the beach but by the time we arrived I felt even worse; I had to wait for a bout of nausea to subside before I could begin the short trek from the car to the beach and as I was sitting on the edge of my seat with my head in my hands I was being slowly eaten alive by sand flies.
As
we got onto la Playa Maguana a young guy started to sell us the merits of his father’s restaurant up one end of the beach specialising in sea food. The last thing I needed was food especially anything from out of the sea. Paul didn’t need lunch either; he had made his lunch out of the breakfast that I didn’t attempt to eat.The cove was practically deserted but Paul suggested that we encamp ourselves at the end furthest from the little thatched cabana where, we hoped if the beach did get busier, that we still wouldn’t get disturbed. This sounded a really good plan but I struggled to get there before the next bout of nausea or stomach cramp hit. Having settled ourselves in Paul noticed that some kind soul had dug a hole quiet near and joked that it might work well as a receptacle should I need to unload! Laying down and trying to get comfortable I just felt worse and worse; when the most recent stomach cramp had subsided I knew I had to make myself sick and managed to drag myself over to the hole. With my hand covered in sand there was no chance of my helping the process along with my fingers and only a little came up. Feeling pretty stupid, I crawled back to my place on the sand. The second time I didn’t make it to the hole; the rest of the bright orange fermenting fruit breakfast ended up on the sand right next to the towel I laying on. Using a stick, Paul dug a hole next to the offending substance and I pushed it in and covered it up. This time I did get some relief but I was really starting to overheat so I put on my swim ware and went into the sea, just to cool myself down and clean myself up.
During the time we were on the beach we had visits from lots of the locals generally
trying to persuade us to go over to the ‘restaurant’ at the other end of the beach suggesting lemon water or coconut milk to relieve my upset tum. Our final visitors were a couple of young guys selling souvenirs; boxes, kitchen utensils, a mojito cocktail maker to name but three and, to be fair, some very nice pieces but I really didn’t feel well enough to be interested; added to the fact that we have to be really strict with ourselves when it comes to souvenirs as it would be really easy to go home with tons of stuff that we have to carry around with us, on our backs, and with nowhere to display them when we do get home. So as the warm sunshine cooled and dimmed into an overcast sky which in turn got darker, we finally managed to get rid of these two really nice guys as the first few rain drops stared to fall.
Paul packed up our belongings while I stood around feeling helpless, useless and longing for my own bed in my own home! I dragged myself back up the ‘road’ to where we had left the car and got in, leaving the door open while Paul put stuff away, got a drink of water for us and I don’t know what else; I just remember it seemed to take an age because I was feeling very rough again and the sand flies had popped over to me for another snack! Paul drove over the bumpy ground to the main road and just as we were turning left to go back to the town I noticed the two young guys who had been unable to sell us any of their wares waving at us indicated that they would like a ride back to town and they had just got into the car when the heavens opened and the deluge began. The hour drive back to town would possibly have only taken 15 mins if the surface had been in good condition. When we did finally get back I headed straight for the bathroom; unable to bring anymore back, Paul took control helping me to undress, clean the sand off and get into bed and then cleared up after me.
Yolanda, our host, was very concerned wanting to call a doctor and making quiet a fuss and I assured her that it was just something I had eaten; I just needed to starve for the remainder of the day and go to bed and sleep. To shut her up I confirmed that if I was still this bad the next day I would consult a doctor; but I think she called him anyway and he probably told her the same. The rain continued to fall all day and into the evening and it was still raining in the morning. Yolanda greeted me with her usual ebullience at breakfast but confirmed that more rain was expected the next day 'Baracoa is a land of great rainfall and many rivers'; we decided to go back to the city; historic though it is, the only reason we had come here was for the beach.
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