I’m guessing Buster Poindexter was in Trinidad when he recorded his smash hit. Not familiar with him? “Feelin’ hot, hot, hot … I’m hot – You’re hot – He’s hot – She’s hot …” Get the picture? Trinidad is hot, and this isn’t even the hot season! To use the technical term, you’re gonna shvitz – but you’ll love this beautiful city nonetheless.
Trinidad is an early colonial town that used to be the epicenter of two major industries: sugar and piracy (the arr/scurvy dog/walk the plank kind, not the illegally download kind). Centuries-old houses in muted colors face narrow lanes; in the older part of town the lanes are paved with cobblestones (ballast from the Spaniards’ ships).
An incomplete (towerless) cathedral fronts the main square.
Some of the one-time mansions of the plantation owners have been restored and repurposed as museums, two of which we toured: one focusing on architecture and one on history.
In all honesty, I didn’t think the museums were that interesting, although the heat and humidity surely wilted any curiosity I might otherwise have had.
Trinidad nestles between the ocean and the mountains. To appreciate the majesty of the setting, climb the tower of the old Church of St. Francis of Assissi, which now houses El Museo Nacional de la Lucha Contra Bandidos – the Museum of the Fight against Bandits (couter-revolutionaries).
Admission is less than a quarter (50 Cuban pesos) and the views are outstanding. (I didn’t visit the museum itself, so I couldn’t tell you what became of the pirates.)
In addition to its physical beauty, Trinidad is known for hand-sewn and hand-embroidered shirts and for pottery.
We stopped at dueling pottery workshops, owned by two brothers who apparently no longer talk to each other. I was amazed watching one of the brothers, who I believe is well into his 80s, throw beautiful pots, pitchers, and cups on his ancient wheel.
Want to beat the heat? There’s a lovely beach nearby, where I spent a morning reading and napping (OK, mostly napping) while others rented a catamaran, searched for shells, or basked in the warm ocean.
There’s also the San Jose Restaurant – conveniently located around the block from our guest house – which serves enormous, scrumptious milk shakes (the maduros – sweet plantains – were pretty darned good as well).
I didn’t catch the name of our guest house in Trinidad, but its address is 235A Francisco Cadahía, and the owners are wonderfully hospitable. The house has a rooftop terrace with panoramic views. What it didn’t have was hot water in the shower, but I was so sweaty from wandering around town that the cold shower was much appreciated.
Finally, what’s the point of visiting a frontier town if you don’t see an apparently drunk cowboy listing off his horse while talking on his cellphone (the horse apparently lacked Bluetooth and speakers)?
Next up: Santa Clara (home to a memorial and museum for Che Guevara), a tear-producing road sign, and a plea for relaxation of the US embargo.
PuffinlessTravel 