Viñales Fun With Frank

Sweaty, tired but happy and a bit tipsy, that’s how we arrived shortly before sunset at Los Jazmines, the hotel over-looking the dramatic Viñales valley.

Frank had never been here and I wanted to pack all this into his dramatically strike-shrunk agenda.

He was sportsman enough to agree not to cancel the planned trip and I am sure now that he enjoyed the time out from Havana tremendously.

After another beer and some pictures it was downslope the curves into Viñales, park the car, get our rooms at the Casa I always stay in, we decided against a shower and proceeded to take a walk up the main street of this one-horse village.

As we passed by the Polo Montañez Centro Cultural ( or : Casa de la Musica ) by the church, I went in with Frank and we had another cold Cristal there.

I asked about reserving a table for the nightly show and, of course, the answer was : No, it’s not possible – which  then turned quickly into a : which table would you prefer, sir – with the passing of a few cookies.

OK, so we had a table.

Back down the main street, we had a few more beers at the second, smaller music place there before going back to the Casa and getting an appetite seeing the prawns being prepared for us.

Too winded up to shower, so a succulent dinner ( remember we were full from the pig lunch at Hector’s ) of delicious river prawns large as lobsters.

Never mind Campana overcharged us next morning for it, I’d pay double now to get my hands on them.

So it was evening and we moved over to take in the show.

Surprise, our table was taken by a very large Evander Holyfield look-alike, one eye half closed and hands as large as a shovel.

Cristal courage made me brave and I asked him WTF he was doing at my table.

He meekly drawled out something like : Me was jus’ doin’ som takin’ care of youse table, my man, no worries – so I invited him to join us and have some beers with/on us, which he kindly agreed to.

Believing he was a regional foreigner ( Haitian ?? ) I asked Jorge WTF a language the big guy was babbling.

Well, Jorge explained that the guy was a local Piñareño guy and they were justly known and famous for being too dumb to speak.

According to a Havana legend only 5% of the Piñareños are smart enough to think …

Well, I kept that piece of information to myself so as to not offend Mr Holyfield who looked like a true Piñareño specimen of the 95% sort and we became friends.

Especially tight friends after he arranged for a few of his girl-friends to keep us company at the table so as to keep all the other girl-friends from bothering us.

Worked out peaches & cream.

We took in the show, enjoyed a few more beers, took the usual : “Look guys, we’re in Cuba with the locals” pictures and round’bout midnight were back in our Casa, fully loaded but laughing and having good fun.

Especially Jorge and Frank – so it was some more beer and a cigar on the porch of the Casa watching the stars while listening to the gossip being exchanged between the Casas.

Hell, we had no plans other than sleep and see the caves next morning.

Sleep we did.

Breakfast was good and included Aspirin and after Jorge had done the required automotive inspection and breathed in some gasoline odours, we set off for the Cueva del Indio.

Frank went in with a group of German Ossi Krauts and, being the only strange face in the group heard a woman in the group remark to the guide in German : He is NOT with us !!

To which Frank replied in his best Frittendeutsch : But I have paid just the same !!

Silence and no more bitching from the Ossi-German Ostfront.

Jorge and I spent 45 minutes outside the cave nursing our headaches with Guarapo and rum waiting for Frank.

Unfortunately, there was no organ-cutting-up guy inside the cave and Frank came out alive and kicking ( we had told him that he should kiss his liver, kidneys and anything of value good-bye in the cave ) and wanting another Guarapo & rum with us.

We then retired for a quiet cafe con leche and a cigar at Los Jazmines.

Some more touristy pics were taken and a last look was had before hitting the Autopista back to Havana and our long missed Miramar house dragon, Sra Julia.

I guess she was also surprised to see us back alive.

Which, after all the luck Frank had so far was indeed a miracle.

Nino